


The Timepiece

by boodacket



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Horses, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:12:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 92,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boodacket/pseuds/boodacket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Complete :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Abbie pov  
   
"Fifty thousand dollars? Are you mad? That chair is unfit for kindling!"  
   
I didn't even bother to look up from the book I was reading. "Why do you insist on watching that when all it does is make you angry?"  
   
Crane made a huffing sound, but didn't bother to answer.  
   
I continued with my reading ( _A Compendium of Water Demons from A  to Z_ ), but wasn't paying much attention. I could hear the TV host purring about the original finish and hand planing (whatever that was).  
   
"I had a finer chair than that in my toolshed!"  
   
"Do you still have it? Because I could really use a new car."  
   
"This society has forgotten the ideals we fought for but makes objects of worship of our household goods. It is infuriating."  
   
The next segment was a Victorian doll, which didn't seem to interest him much as he went back to reading the book on his desk.  
   
We were in the archives under the station. It was quiet there as it usually was, punctuated only by the sound of the small TV and the pen Crane was clicking as he read. (I was going to have to tell him to stop in a minute because it was getting on my nerves.)  
   
I started to get back into reading, when I heard the sound of a pen clattering to the floor, followed by Crane's chair creaking as he leaned closer to the TV.  
   
"Ms. Mills?" He whispered, "I believe that is my timepiece."  
   
"What?" I got up from the table and walked over by Crane's chair for a closer look.  
   
"...magnificent 14 karat gold pocket watch that appears to be of 18th century German manufacture..." The camera zoomed in on the intricately engraved gold case as the TV host's manicured fingers began to open it.  
   
"It was actually from Vienna. There are Freemason-"  
   
"...the mother-of-pearl face has Roman numerals interspersed with what appear to be masonic symbols. Da Vinci code, anyone?" The TV host laughed as she turned the watch over on the little velvet stand.  
   
"My initials are on the-"  
   
"...a beautifully engraved monogram on the reverse. I. C. What name might that be? Ian? Ivan? It would be lovely if we could find out.  Where did you obtain the timepiece?"  
   
"Found it under the floor when we pulled down the old barn," I heard a man's voice say off-screen.  
   
"Let's see if there might be another surprise in store. Sometimes these have a secret compartment..." She pressed a latch I hadn't noticed before. It was so small I could barely see it, even with the camera zoom.  
   
"What the devil? I never realized that was there," Crane said, leaning closer to the TV.  
   
"Ah! There it goes!" The latch popped open, revealing a round door on the back of the watch. "These can be a bit naughty sometimes... Well, this is different." The host turned the watch toward the camera.  
   
"What the devil is right," I said. Crane and I looked at each other when we saw the engraved face of the demon inside the secret door.  
   
"There's something odd about that engraving," Crane said. 

I leaned in for a closer look. He was right: the picture was strangely drawn, as if it had extra markings. It was hard to be sure, though, because the camera seemed out-of-focus and the image was blurred.  
   
"So... would you like to know the auction value?"  
   
"Yes ma'am. Surely would indeed," the man's voice said off-screen.  
   
"Auction value is about 10 thousand. If we knew the history behind the gargoyle picture in the secret compartment, it might increase the value, particularly if there's an interesting story behind it."  
   
Apparently, Crane and I had both leaned in for a closer look at the TV because our faces were inches apart. Oh my. His eyes were even bluer up close.

I sat back quickly as I felt my face burning.  
   
"Any idea what the demon thing is?"  
   
"None, I fear. I am also uncertain if the compartment existed in my time. I should like a closer look at that timepiece."  
   
"I thought I heard them say that episode was filmed in Albany. Maybe that guy with the watch isn't too far away. I'll see what I can do."  
   
Just then my phone buzzed. "Good afternoon, Captain Irving."  
   
***  
   
"Are you sure this is the right market?"  
   
"This is where Irving said. It's the only A&P and this is the only alley behind it."  
   
"That's the demon? That?"  
   
I leaned around the corner of the dumpster for another peek. It was a flamelike red wisp of smoke drifting slowly (though there wasn't any wind that night) about a foot above the damp pavement.  
   
"Shall I try and get close enough to apply salt to it?"  
   
"Actually, um, I upgraded our demon hunting kit a little." I rummaged in the duffel at my feet until I felt what I was looking for. "Voila. Super Soaker."  
   
He made a face. "Is that a child's toy?"  
   
"Toy, demon carnage machine, same difference. I already filled it with salt water, so it's ready to go."  
   
"In that case, would you care to do the honors or shall I?"  
   
"I got this. Watch and learn. First, you have to build up pressure..." I pumped the handle a few times.  
   
Crane sighed, "It is fortunate our demon isn't in a hurry"  
   
"Almost there." Crouching on one knee, I braced the plastic stock against my shoulder and aimed carefully.  
   
When I pulled the trigger, a jet of water leapt out, instantly clearing the distance between us and the demon. It was a direct hit. When the water touched the demon, there was a flash of red-orange light and a wet-sounding "pop" like a water balloon. Then we were alone in the alley.  
   
We stayed crouched behind the dumpster while I pressurized the water gun again. After a few minutes. I started over, holding the gun in front of me.  
   
I waved my hands in the empty air where the demon had hovered then laughed, "There's nothing here."  
   
Crane joined me, approaching slowly. Finally, he smiled. "I should like more of this sort of demon."  
   
"Trade Moloch for this puppy any day, no question. Fist bump?" (He always does it really soft. I think he is afraid of hurting my tiny little lady hands.)  
   
He sniffed, "Do you smell something like rotten eggs?"  
   
"It's probably the dumpster," I shrugged. "Thanks to the wimp demon we're done really early. Why don't we knock off and I'll see if I can find the watch guy from the TV show."  
   
"That is most kind of you, lieutenant." He looked at me, and flexed his hands a few times. "Before we leave, perhaps I should try that?" Crane pointed to the water gun. "Just so I know how to use it in case of demonic emergency, of course."  
   
 _Men and their toys._ "Here you go. Knock yourself out."  
   
He worked the handle briskly then shot a jet of water onto the roof of the supermarket.  
   
"Ha! That is good fun. How about that stop sign? Huzzah! Did you see that fine shot, lieutenant?"  
   
I rolled my eyes. "You're the Super Soaker champ, Crane. We'll try paintball next."  
   
"Perhaps we could find somewhere to refill this? To be absolutely sure I understand its workings, of course."

  
***  
   
"Do we have our story straight?"  
   
"I believe so... The watch resembles one a mysterious ancestor described in his diary. Of course, I respect that Mr. Taylor is now its rightful owner; however, I would be most interested in inspecting the timepiece, in hopes of gaining knowledge about my ancestor."  
   
"Sounds good to me. And you're on your own with explaining why you're dressed like a pirate."  
   
"Thank you for sharing - again - your unsolicited opinions of my wardrobe."  
   
"I'm just messing with you. You know I love you, right?" I said in a joking tone, keeping my eyes straight ahead on the road.  
   
"Hmm..." Crane's hand on the seat flexed. "Lieutenant, I believe this might be Mr. Taylor's house."  
   
It was an old farmhouse, but appeared to be in good repair. The barn looked brand new. And there was an ambulance and a police car in the driveway.  
   
I parked the car and ran to the front steps just as the paramedics were carrying someone out. I recognized the person on the stretcher as the same man who brought Crane's watch to the TV show.  He was unconscious and very pale but I couldn't see any blood or obvious wounds.  
   
As I held the front door open for them, I noticed deep gouges on the doorframe, like something had tried to claw its way in.  
   
A cop came to the door. "May I help you?" I recognized the wary vibe he gave off.  
   
"I'm Lieutenant Mills, from the Sleepy Hollow bureau. This is my colleague, Mr. Crane. We had an appointment to speak with Mr. Taylor about the watch from the TV show."  
   
The officer's face relaxed as he offered me his hand. "I'm Sergeant Baker. Mr. Taylor mentioned you before he lost consciousness." He and Crane shook hands.  
   
"Any idea what happened?  
   
"Mr. Taylor was kind of out of it and not making much sense, but it sounded like someone broke in and stole the watch."  
   
"Will he be ok?"  
   
"We think so. His wife came home from the store and found the house tossed and Mr. Taylor lying on the floor. It's a good thing she called it in when she did."  
   
"Anything we can do to help?"  
   
"It's ok, Lieutenant, but thanks." The sergeant smiled then. He had a dimple.  
   
"I guess we'll be going then. I know you're busy with your investigation." I turned to go back down the front steps when the sergeant’s voice stopped me.  
   
"Lieutenant? Wait... before he passed out, the victim said one other thing: that the perp had white eyes. Crazy, huh?"  
   
A look passed between Crane and me. "White eyes -- really?"  
   
"I know, right? I guess the poor guy must have been hit pretty hard. Anyway... I'll pass along anything that comes up about the watch."  
   
"Thank you, Sergeant. That would be fantastic." He flashed the dimple again as I handed him my card.  
   
Once we were back in my car, Crane said, "The officer seemed very... helpful."  
   
"Yeah, seemed like a nice guy," I shrugged. "Did you see those gouges on the doorframe? Those didn't look like they were made by a crowbar."  
   
Crane nodded, "More like claws. Very large ones."  
   
"That's what I was thinking too. Hopefully Mr. Taylor will be able to tell us more when he wakes up."  
   
"My apologies for your making this long drive for nothing."  
   
"It's ok," I smiled. "Have to start somewhere."  
   
We drove along the country roads, the silence punctuated occasionally by Crane arguing with the GPS. We were getting close to the highway and I was just about to ask Crane if he wanted to stop for burgers. Then I saw it: the smallest flicker of red-orange light hovering about a foot off the ground at the edge of the woods on the other side of the overpass.  
   
"Crane," I pointed, "over there."  
   
"It looks like another of the demons," he said.  
   
"Shouldn’t we follow it?" Why did I feel so excited all of a sudden?  
   
"Unquestionably."  
   
I drove past the highway entrance ramp, and sped along the road adjoining the field where the demon hovered. When we were close, I stopped the car as Crane grabbed the duffel bag with our demon hunting kit from the floor of the backseat.

Just as I opened my car door, there was a small puff of wind and the demon vanished.  
   
"It's gone." I felt like crying.  
   
Crane twisted slowly around, scanning the horizon.  
   
Suddenly he pointed, "Lieutenant! It's over there. Make haste!"  
   
I felt a jolt of adrenaline at his words. We jumped back in the car; I heard the tires spray gravel as I hit the gas  
   
The demon hovered about a hundred yards ahead, closer to the road this time and just at the edge of a small ravine. We could catch it easily this time. I just knew it!  
   
I parked as near as I could and we jumped out again... to find it gone. My heart pounded in my chest as I looked for the demon. I had to find it! Finally, thank God, I saw it further along the road. "Crane!" I yelled as I pointed. We both leapt back into my car. I didn't even bother with my seatbelt, I was in such a hurry.  
   
I have no idea how long we did this or how many times. Every time it seemed as if we had caught the demon, it vanished again, which only seemed to make us more eager to continue chasing it.  
   
The road followed alongside a marsh and finally, FINALLY I knew this was it. I threw the car into park and jumped out before it even came to a full stop. As I started to climb over the guardrail, the demon vanished again.  
   
"Where is it?!" I whispered over and over again to myself as Crane and I turned in a circle, trying to see everywhere at once.  
   
I clutched his hand, digging my nails in. "Can you see it?"  
   
"No," he ran his hand through his disheveled hair. "Perhaps if we go into the marsh?"  
   
We were both breathing hard as we faced each other. Forcing myself to look - really look- at Crane, I noticed the tie had come out of his hair and his eyes had an odd, glassy look.  
   
My hand shook as I reached up to touch his cheek. "What's happening to us?" I whispered.  
   
He shook his head and blinked several times. Then, it was like he finally saw me. "Ms. Mills," he gasped, "you are injured."  
   
The sleeve of my blouse was torn halfway off and stained with blood. Apparently I had cut my arm. I had no memory of how I did it and only now realized that it hurt. "It's ok," I waved my hand.  "I've got a first aid kit in my car."  
   
Then I finally took a look at, oh God, my poor car! There was a huge dent in the bumper and a scrape on the fender where I could see bare metal. And steam was coming from under the hood.  
   
"Dammit!" I yelled as I jumped back inside and cut the engine. I looked at the fuel gauge; it was just a hair above "E".  
   
What about my phone?  
   
I half sobbed with relief when I felt it still in my front pocket. My hand shook as I pulled it out and pressed the button, already knowing what I'd see.  
   
"No service?" Crane said, leaning over. "Does that mean what I think it means?"  
   
I nodded. "It means we're in the middle of nowhere, with no phone, almost out of gas, my car might be broken down, and there's a demon out there that can possess us to do anything it wants." Standing, I let out a huge, slobbery-sounding sob and reached for Crane, who immediately pulled me into his arms.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Crane pov

I held the lieutenant, stroking her hair, until she stopped weeping. Eventually, I felt her arms release me. "Sorry," she sniffed, as she wiped her eyes.

"Pray do not apologize. It is I who am responsible. If I had not proposed this fool’s errand, none of this would have happened. I think that henceforth, we should abandon looking for the watch."

"Originally, I would have agreed with you. But you heard what the sergeant said about the perp having eyes like the sandmen. And there's that creepy demon face in the watch. I can't help but wonder if the watch has something to do with Moloch."

"Fair point," I nodded, dreading the next question I was about to ask. "Do I understand correctly that your vehicle is currently unusable?"

"My poor old car," Ms. Mills sighed. "I think we should give it a few hours to cool off before I try starting it again. Even then, I'm not sure how far we'll get on so little gas."

I looked at our surroundings. We were in the shoulder of a gravel road next to what appeared to be a marsh, which had an unpleasant dank odor. There were no houses or lights in the vicinity (though it was difficult to be certain because of the failing light.)

The lieutenant looked up at me as if she were expecting me to offer a plan. "May I suggest we wait in the car? It may offer some protection."

"If the demon comes back, you mean?"

I nodded. "I'm sorry but that is exactly what I mean."

I leaned over to better observe the wound on the lieutenant's arm. "Shall I see to that?"

She looked down at it, as though she had forgotten it was there. "Probably a good idea. I'll get the first aid kit."

With her good arm, Ms. Mills rummaged beneath the front seat. "CD, moldy French fry - ew - first aid kit."

Seating herself on the rear seat, she opened the kit, then one of the small sachets it contained (which I now knew were used to clean a wound to prevent its infection.)

"Can you tape this bandage on for me? It's kind of awkward to do my own arm."

"Of course," I walked around the car and sat down on the other side.

"I'll hand you the tape if you can just-" she pointed at the wound.

As my fingertips pushed aside the tattered sleeve of her blouse, I felt it: the same (stupid, pointless, thrilling) spark that was there every time we touched.

We were sitting very close together. I could see the individual eyelashes of her downcast eyes and the small indent where she bit her lower lip.

"Am I hurting you?" Why was I whispering?

"No, I- no." She shook her head quickly and handed me another strip of tape.

***

"Done." I applied the last strip of tape and sat back to admire my work.

"Good job, Dr. Crane," She smiled. "Unfortunately, I need to turn off the dome light now, so we don't run down the car battery."

The interior of the car was almost pitch black. "I'll just move up to the front-"

"No!" I felt the lieutenant’s hand clutch my sleeve.

"Are you unwell, lieutenant?"

"Crane, I..." I heard her soft exhalation of breath. "I'm ok but the possession thing kind of freaked me out."

"Understandably. It is troubling not to be in control of one's actions."

"Exactly - the control thing," I could feel her fingers worrying the fabric of my sleeve. "There were so many times when I was a kid that I felt like I had no say over anything that happened to me. The thought of being a puppet again like that is just.."

"Terrifying."

"Yep. That's the word." She shivered and rubbed her arms.

"Forgive my stupidity at not realizing you must be cold." I removed my coat and moved to drape it over the lieutenant's shoulders.

"What? No." She pushed my hand away. "It's my own fault for leaving my jacket at work. You shouldn't have to be c-cold because I don't have enough sense to bring a c-coat."

"Must you be so obstinate?" I sighed. "Budge over."

Slowly, I slid my hip next to the lieutenant’s on the frigid car seat. I put one arm around her shoulders and, with my other arm, draped the coat that she detested so much over both of us.

"May I trust this distribution of resources is sufficiently nonpartisan?"

"Don't patronize me, Crane."

Her voice sounded angry, but I noticed she didn't move away. "Apologies. You are the very last person to whom I would ever feel condescending."

"It's ok." I felt her arm move against my side, followed by the click-beep of the car alarm engaging. 

"I feel terrible about your vehicle, you know."

"It's ok, but thanks," she patted my arm. "I offered to drive and was the one who suggested we follow the damn thing."

I heard her yawn.

"Crane, in case it comes back... do you think we should close our eyes? I wondered if maybe it couldn't possess us if we couldn't see it."

"An excellent notion."

I closed my eyes, but resolved I would continue to keep guard by listening carefully for signs of trouble... and the sound of an owl outside. (I yawned.) Where was I? Oh yes -- and the lieutenant's soft breathing, the faint fragrance of her hair, and the warmth of her shoulder against my side as she-


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> possible mild virtual dubcon in this chapter

Crane pov

I felt the lieutenant continue to shiver beside me.

"This coat is like a furnace. How can you still be cold?"

"Maybe you're not trying hard enough."

"Oh indeed! By your leave, then..." Wrapping my arms around the lieutenant's waist, I pulled her into my lap.

I remained very still as I felt her relax against my chest. Her arm wrapped around my neck as she leaned her head sideways to rest against my shoulder. "Better already." 

The sleeve on the lieutenant’s arm that was wrapped around me appeared clean and recently pressed. There was something odd about this... but what was it?

Her hand stroking the back of my neck brought me back to the present. Meanwhile, she inclined her head so I could feel her warm breath, followed by her lips, against the tendon at the side of my throat.

Her kisses moved slowly, softly upward, pausing to apply her tongue to the sensitive place just below my ear. My arms tightened convulsively around her as I shuddered.

My hand rubbed circles on her back, then dipped beneath the hem of her blouse. I marveled at the softness of her skin as my fingertips brushed feather-light against her sides and back, occasionally venturing just inside the waist of her trousers or grazing the taut band of cloth below her breasts. (I was not sure of the proper name of this interestingly-engineered device. Perhaps it was still called a corset?)

The familiar electric current from her touch was there, only vastly stronger. Experimentally, I placed my palm full against her back, tracing along her spine. I felt a pulse of heat begin in the pit of my belly. The lieutenant moaned softly. I wondered if she felt the same spark that I did.

The lieutenant kissed my cheekbone. Her fingertips softly stroked my face and beard. She a drew back for a moment, her warm brown eyes meeting my own, then closed her eyes again and kissed the corner of my mouth.

I watched her eyelids flutter open again and she smiled so sweetly I couldn't help but press my closed lips softly to hers once, twice. I stopped then to rest my forehead against hers as I regained control of my faculties.

"Dear lieutenant," I said as my fingertips stroked her impossibly smooth cheek "whatever are we doing?"

"Crane," she sighed, "you know the rule is we don't talk about whatever the hell this is" she gestured between our bodies. "If we don't acknowledge it, it isn't there."

I raised an eyebrow and began to speak but the lieutenant put her finger to my lips. "Shh. I told you the rule." She looked sternly at me for a moment, then removed her finger.

"Anyway.. " her gaze traveled to my lips then back to my eyes. "Do you really feel like talking now?" Her hand slid inside the open collar of my shirt. The warmth of her fingers against my skin made my heart stutter in my bosom.

I realized I had never properly appreciated the bow shape of her upper lip. How was it possible something so mesmerizing had escaped my notice? I moved one fingertip to softly trace its edge, then brush along the plump curve of her lower lip. Seemingly of its own volition, my hand gently swept to her cheek, holding her in place as I brought my lips to hers once again.

My tongue brushed her bottom lip. I felt her mouth curve as she smiled and parted her lips for me.

The sweetness and heat of her mouth made me lose track of time. Her hand cradled the back of my head as we moved slightly, the smallest inclinations to allow us to taste deeper, more thoroughly, more...

I broke the kiss to catch my breath. The lieutenant rested her head against my shoulder as her fingers moved to release the laces at my shirt collar. She dipped her head to kiss the hollow at the base of my throat, then her hands slid to my waist and began to untuck my shirt from my trousers. I eagerly assisted, pulling the shirt over my head.

She smoothed her hands in circles over my chest. "I've wanted to touch this for so long. You have no idea."

I made a face. "There's a bit of hair, I'm afraid."

"No. It's perfect." The lieutenant placed a kiss over my heart, then another upon the scar the horseman gave me.

"I love this," she swept her hands in circles over my bosom, moving downward over my belly.

"I love-" her eyes met mine and she gave a small smile. "I love... this." Her hand clasped the back of my neck, pulling my mouth to hers, skillfully applying her tongue and teeth.

She gave my lips another lingering kiss, then slowly drew back (though I could not bear for my arms to release her) and began to unbutton her blouse.

I placed my hands over hers. "May I?" I whispered.

The lieutenant nodded. I kissed along her jaw and throat, as I unbuttoned, continuing downward. Smoothing my fingertips along her collarbones I pushed the blouse off her shoulders as she helpfully shrugged it off.

Her gaze met mine for a moment, then she looked down, almost shyly, I thought. Placing a finger under her chin, I gently lifted her face until her eyes met mine again.

"I am overwhelmed by your beauty," I whispered, "and my joy that you are here with me."

As I bent to kiss her again, I realized the scene had changed from her car to the cabin where we lay on the settee beside a roaring fire. The firelight cast a glow on the lieutenant's smooth skin.

Tracing one fingertip along the edge of the garment that covered her lovely breasts, I noticed that, in contrast to the rather utilitarian garment she had worn during the shaman ritual, she now wore a sheer black lace version I had once seen hanging out of a duffel bag in her car.

The contrast of the black lace against her skin and the glimpse of her nipples beneath the sheer fabric was incredibly arousing.

My hand caressed her side, then moved to palm one breast over its covering. "Crane," she gasped, arching her back as my splayed fingers gently kneaded. 

With the pad of my thumb, I caressed the pebbled tip, then bent to kiss along the edge of the possibly-a-corset, finally pressing a kiss to her nipple through the wispy lace.

It was then I noticed a small metal clasp on the lacy fabric between her breasts. I rested my fingertips against it as I looked up to meet the lieutenant's gaze. "Yes," she whispered.

My hands shook slightly as I unfastened the tiny hook, then drew aside the sheer fabric. 

My hand moved to cup one perfect breast as my mouth paid equal attention to the other. Moaning, she cradling the back of my head with her hands as I licked and suckled one tender nipple. Meanwhile, my fingertips softly circled the other delicate bud.

Her hands roamed over my back, alternating feather-light brushes of her fingertips with her nails gently scratching. 

Pushing one hand against my shoulder, the lieutenant rolled me onto my back. As she rested her head against my chest I wrapped my arms around her in an embrace, savoring how right it felt to have her there.

"I can hear your heart," she whispered.

"Surely you realize it beats for you."

Leaning forward, she brought her mouth to mine again and we kissed deeply, our tongues entwining as her hand rubbed lazy circles over my chest, drifting lower, to my belly, her fingers advancing over the waistband of my trousers. I held my breath as, dear God; she pressed her palm flat against my arousal, moving slowly up and down its length.

"Abbie, darling," I moaned, closing my eyes as she continued. Then, the movement of her hand changed. She seemed to be... looking for something.

"There's no zipper is there?"

"If you are referring to what I think you are referring to, there is, (ahem) a sort of buttoned flap."

Her hand stilled, then moved away. "Crane... there's no way I would know this."

She raised her head to look at me, her brow furrowed. "...and if this is a dream, how are you explaining it?"

"Perhaps I already told you?" This argument sounded weak even to my lust-fogged brain.

"I would damn sure have remembered that conversation."

At her words, realization dawned on me and I felt as if I had suddenly fallen off a steep cliff. "One more small detail: I was under the impression this was my dream."

The lieutenant’s eyes were huge as we stared at each other, neither of us speaking for a moment.

We both sat up then as the lieutenant hurriedly wrapped herself in the blanket that covered the back of the settee. 

She snapped her fingers, "Quick. Say something in Greek."

"What?" I shook my head. 

"Anything. Doesn't matter."

_"Σ 'αγαπώ."_

"See, I have no idea what you just said."

The seat of the lieutenant's car could be seen through the back of the settee, which had become transparent. 

"I don't think you're dreaming or I'm dreaming, Crane. I think we're both in this freaky dream together."

Instantly, the cabin vanished and we were back in the lieutenant’s car. The lieutenant was sitting next to me and (thank the heavens) we were fully clothed.

She leapt out of the car, slamming the door so hard behind her the car shook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Google translate was used for the Greek; apologies if it has issues


	4. Chapter 4

Abbie pov

None of it was real. I was in control. Everything was fine. My heart raced as I waited for my panic to subside.

"Lieutenant, I..." 

His eyes looked so sad. 

"I have the utmost respect for you and would never... take advantage..."

I felt my fingernails digging into my palms. Damn Crane and his puppy dog eyes and his respect. I couldn't even have a decent panic attack with him around. 

I took a deep breath, let it out, forced myself to calm down. "You ok, Crane?"

He swallowed. "It seemed like a dream, Abbie, honestly."

I nodded. "Me too. Honestly." I forced a small smile.

We stood there awkwardly staring at each other for a moment.

"You bested it, Ms. Mills. You saw through its attempt to confuse us with visions."

"So if it comes back - which I've already decided it won't - now I know to confuse it by asking you how to load a musket or shoe a horse or some other weird crap you guys did back then that I wouldn’t have a clue about.”

"Actually... I don't know how to do the latter. We had farriers back then. They were skilled tradesmen, but rather fond of ale. I remember once my best mare had become lame and-"

"If you don't stop talking, I will leave you here in this swamp. Understood?"

He offered a forced-looking smile. "Perhaps we should depart in case there are more demons in the marsh."

***

I had set the cruise at 70 and we were flying down the highway toward Sleepy Hollow.

"Would you please try my voicemail again? The, um, red button. I think we might be in range now."

I heard the beep as Crane played the first message.

"Lieutenant, I need you to call me back immediately. There's something strange happening at the supermarket where you killed the smoke demon."

Another beep.

"The manager of the A&P is getting suspicious. I gave him the gas leak story and cordoned off the alley, but I'm not sure he bought it. Really need for you to call me back, Lieutenant."

Yet another beep.

"The damn thing is growing now, Lieutenant. And Westchester News had a reporter snooping around today. Seriously not sure how much longer I can keep this undercover so you need to start returning my calls."

... And another. Ugh. Kill me now.

"Dammit, Mills. Pick up the phone or come clean out your desk. Is that clear enough for you."

"No more messages," the woman's bland voice said.

"I believe that is the last one." I heard the beep as Crane closed voicemail.

"I guess I should call him back, huh?"

"I think the captain may, perhaps, have subtly hinted that, yes."

I pulled over to the side of the road to call Irving.

***

"Sounds like a hellmouth."

"What?"

I heard Jenny's sigh. Even over the phone, her annoyance was loud and clear. "It's exactly what it sounds like. Basically, a gateway to the underworld. When did you last see it?"

"Last night. Irving met us there so he could hand me my ass in person. I think Crane and I triggered it when we killed the smoke-demon-whatever-it-was-thing."

"I think that was a will o' the wisp demon, actually. They're a type of water demon. I haven't heard of them being able to create a hellmouth, but I guess anything’s possible when you two wonder twins are involved."

"Crane and I actually saw another one of those - the wisp things- when we were driving back from Albany."

"You guys went to Albany?"

"Long story. Basically, we found someone who had an old watch that was Crane's back in the day. It has a secret compartment with a demon engraved inside. We went to check it out but it was stolen from the owner before we got there. The victim said the perp had white eyes, like the sandmen things."

"Wow, good work, Nancy Drew."

"On the other hand, the victim had a blow to the head and lost consciousness soon after, so maybe take that into account, too."

"If you send me a picture of the watch, I'll try and check it out. While I'm at it, I'll also check around for someone local who can deal with the hellmouth. Unfortunately, I'm going to be here for a while."

"Where are you anyhow?"

"I'm.... away. Helping some folks get a thing."

"If it's a big damn secret just say so, Jenny."

"Suit yourself. It's a big damn secret then." Over the phone, I heard the sound of a rifle magazine eject.

"Jenny, what the hell?!"

"Relax mom. I'm just cleaning it. Proper firearm safety and all. Anyway... you said that you guys saw another of the wisp demons on the road. By any chance, did anything weird happen? Like losing time or feeling like you were out of control?"

I felt a chill run up my spine. "It was exactly like that, Jenny! When I saw it, it was like I couldn't stop myself from following. When I finally came to, we were by a swamp and my car was almost wrecked."

"Oh shit! Did you say you were by a swamp?"

"Yes... why?"

"That's where the wisp demons drown their victims. If you followed it that far and you're still here, you're either damn lucky or it wants you alive."

There was a long pause while I digested this information. I heard the scratching sound of a cleaning brush on metal on Jenny's end.

"Jenny... there was one other thing. While we were at the swamp, Crane and I had this weird dream - only we were both in it."

"Blaming that one on the demon, too. They can mess with your head."

"So... in this dream we were possessed and had no control over our actions, right? It was the demon making us do stuff?"

"Can be that or can be it lowered your inhibitions. Basically, gave your brain a green light to do whatever you wanted."

I heard the sounds of Jenny reassembling the rifle. It sounded like an AK but I wasn't sure.

"Are we talking about what happened in the weird dream, Abbie?"

I actually considered it for a second but was too embarrassed. I also wondered whether the demon had made me throw myself at Crane or led me to give in my wicked desires. ("It was a dream! Didn't count!" The evil little voice in my brain immediately singsonged. )

"Guess we all have our big damn secrets," I said.

***

I flashed my badge and the cop let Crane and me go behind the barrier.

The odor of rotten eggs hit me from the other end of the alley. "It smells even worse today."

"It appears to have increased in size as well," Crane said.

The hellmouth was about 10 feet across and emitted a thick, sulfurous smoke that coated the dumpsters in the alley. I heard a low rumble and felt the ground tremble beneath my feet as we approached. If I leaned over, there was a reddish-orange light visible way at the bottom. 

Just then, I felt the low rumble again. One of Crane’s ridiculously long arms swept me backward just as the patch of concrete where I'd been standing crumbled into the hole.

He held me against his chest as my hands clutched his coat. I slowly opened my eyes and looked up to find him gazing back at me. He drew in a breath, then dropped his arm and quickly stepped backward, his face flushed pink. "You should not stand so close to the edge. It is unsafe."

"Agreed, and thank you."

He nodded, not quite meeting my eyes.

Just then, a woman pushing a grocery cart full of garbage bags entered the other end of the alley.

"Ma'am!" I yelled, "You have to leave. There's a dangerous gas leak here."

"Are you Abbie?"

"Yes, I'm Abigail Mills."

"Jenny sent me. Said you needed some help with a hellmouth." She seemed to be looking at a point on the wall behind me she spoke. Her hands flapped slowly at her sides.

I started to put out my hand, but noticed the flapping increased as I did so. I put my hand back down and said, "It’s a pleasure to meet you..."

She smiled slightly, "Just call me Sharon."

"You must be Mr. Crane. Jenny told me about you too," she addressed the wall behind Crane. 

Crane bowed slightly. "Ichabod Crane at your service, Madame."

She smiled (a bit more this time). "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Crane."

"We are most grateful for your assistance, Ms. Sharon."

"Can you help me set up? I could use assistance with some of the gear."

***

Totally honest here, the thing Crane and Sharon were building looked kind of like a science fair project. There were a bunch of wires strung on poles surrounding the hellmouth. The whole process was taking forever because Crane asked so many questions. To avoid getting close to Sharon (which seemed to increase the hand flapping) Crane would place things on the ground near her and she would pick them up.

They occasionally had me rummage in the grocery cart but they were both so into it, there wasn't much for me to do. 

Just when I was thinking we needed to start considering a back-up plan, Sharon finished attaching some wires to the back of what looked like an ordinary light switch. She laid the switch on the ground a few feet from Crane.

"Care to fire it up Mr. Crane?" She said to his boots.

He looked as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. "Are you sure Ms. Sharon? You did the lion’s share of the labor; the honor should rightfully belong to you."

"Um... is that thing safe?" I said.

After that there was a really, really long discussion of how conductors and insulators work (interspersed with more yet questions from Crane). I didn't follow it all, but it convinced me Sharon knew what she was doing.

When Crane flipped the switch, I heard a low hum, then a blue current swept around the wires. There was another rumble, louder this time, then the hole seemed to contract a few inches. After a moment, the smoke stopped and the ground stilled. The hellmouth seemed smaller, but it definitely wasn't gone.

"Dammit. I was afraid of that," Sharon sighed. "It looks like this will contain it, but not exorcise it. Unfortunately, I think I need to do a bit more research."

Just then my phone buzzed with a call from Jenny. I walked to the end of the alley to take the call.

"Hey. Is Sharon there?"

"She's right here. She knows a lot about this stuff, doesn't she?"

"She's brilliant; was a scientist before the cray cray started. Can you put her on for a second?"

"Sharon, call for you. It's Jenny." I put my phone carefully on the ground for her.

Sharon walked a few feet down the alley and began to converse in a language I didn't recognize. She paused a few times to laugh, once having to brace her arm against the wall, she was laughing so hard. Jenny spoke another language? And well enough to be funny in it? I wondered what else I didn't know about my sister.

When Sharon thanked me and laid my phone back on the ground. I noticed how rough and weathered her hands were, like someone who spent a lot of time outside.

"Um, Sharon, I don't mean to pry but, if you need any money or help getting into a shelter, it's the least I can do."

She offered the dumpster behind me a small smile. "Thanks, but I'm good. Should probably get going, actually. I'll be in touch once I've had a chance to do more research."

While we were talking Crane had been examining the science project encircling the hellmouth. I happened to glance over just as he put up his hand toward one of the glowing wires.

"No!" Sharon and I screamed, in unison.

Crane jerked his hand back just in time. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Mr. Crane, in addition to knowing about insulators and conductors, you should also be aware that electricity can be very dangerous and you should never touch it."

"Noted. And thank you Ms. Sharon."

Just as Sharon was leaving, my phone buzzed. Who the hell was Jeffrey Baker? I almost let it go to voicemail, but finally decided to answer.

"Abbie Mills."

"Hi Lieutenant Mills. This is Sergeant Baker. I'm the investigator for the assault and robbery at the Taylor residence. We met at the crime scene."

_Oh! The cop with the dimple._

"Hi Sergeant Baker. Thanks for following up. How are things going with the case?"

"No leads on the stolen watch, unfortunately. The good news is the victim is out of the hospital and back home with his family."

"That is good news." I said.

"We're at a place in the investigation where we can make the evidence available for your inspection, if you still want to see it."

"Cool. Before we make that drive again, mind if I ask what's there?"

"It's not much to look at, that's for sure. Just some old papers that were buried in a trunk under Mr. Taylor's barn. There's a lot of mold and water damage and they're pretty smelly."

I could hear the sound of pages turning on the other end of the line.

"Oh, hey, I can actually read this one... sort of. Man, they had some fancy handwriting back then, didn't they? Anyway... it says 'Property of Jeremy Crane.'


	5. Chapter 5

***Abbie pov*** 

"I am settling in to my position as a farmhand here at the Taylors'. The horses, Homer and Martha, are wonderful. Since my flight from the orphanage, they are my closest companions. Here is a picture of Martha. Isn't she a beauty?"

The bottom half of the drawing had disintegrated but the horse's face was still there. The pencil marks showed delicate shading and a white star on the horse's forehead.

"It looks like Jeremy took good care of her," I said. "Look how bright her eyes are and how shiny she is. That looks like a contented horse."

"Indeed." 

I poked Crane's arm, "Read some more." 

"It is English. Can you not read it yourself?"

I shook my head. "I can make out some words here and there, but they barely taught cursive at my school."

He carefully turned over another crumbling, yellowed leaf of paper. Baker wasn't kidding about the water damage. Jeremy's papers were in rough shape. 

"A man in the village today said he saw a veiled woman. I pray it is not one of the four, continuing to hunt me down. I hate them."

Hate was written really dark and underlined a bunch of times.

"But I will remain calm, since my anger in turn angers G. I hope he will stay hidden. This is the longest I have remained anywhere and I hope to stay longer. Must go muck out stalls, more later."

"I can't make out the rest of these pages," Crane carefully turned over a few sheets.

"...scullery maid. She is the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld. Thankfully, G has remained in concealment, probably because I have given him no cause to come to my aid."

There was a drawing of a young girl with dark, wavy hair loosely pinned up. She had a mischievous expression and was holding a pail. "Maisie" was written underneath in particularly fancy script.

Crane turned a few pages.

"I believe she may also be fleeing the Sisterhood. We talked today about plans for escape. She also let me hold her hand! I did not realize my heart could contain such joy. When next we meet, I shall tell her of my love for her."

Crane and I gasped as he turned the page. There was a portrait of a handsome young man. He was holding one arm forward, like he'd drawn his reflection from a hand mirror. I wondered if it was drawn soon after his date with Maisie because he looked so happy.

"He has your eyes," I said.

Crane's expression was somewhere between joy and overwhelmed. With a trembling hand, he carefully traced the outline of the young man's face.

"I have seen my son," his eyes shone as he looked at me. 

I put my hand on his and he gently clasped it before carefully turning a few more leaves.

"Maisie fears the Sisters may have discovered her hiding place. For safekeeping, she has given me the timepiece she stole from them, which is the cause of their wrath against her. She showed me it has an odd door on the back where..."

"I can't read it," Crane sighed. "The paper is too damaged."

"...we are moving ahead our plans for escape. Maisie has saved her wages for a post-chaise to the city. There, we shall sell the timepiece and use the gains to procure passage to London or Paris, where we may begin life anew and free of the accursed Sisterhood of witches. G has been in hiding these months, since I have known my dearest Maisie. I shall not attempt to summon him prior to our departure. Though he has been my companion, in his absence perhaps I can finally know what it is to lead a normal life. I feel this is what he would want for me. 

The Taylors have been kind. I shall miss them and their horses. I gave Homer and Martha an extra ration of mash tonight to remember me by."

Crane turned pages until he found another that was legible.

"The Sisters have taken Maisie. Unless I submit to their demands, they will kill her. How could I ever have been so stupid as to think my life could be other than unremitting misery? 

This will be my last entry. I shall hide this journal in the hole I created beneath the floor of the barn along with the timepiece. The witch told me to bring the timepiece to our meeting but I do not trust her. In the unlikely possibility Maisie and I escape the witches, perhaps the value of the timepiece (which I am starting to think may be more be more than the weight of its gold) can buy our safety. 

I must go now, before G comes, lest he harm the Taylors and the horses. Goodbye, journal. May we meet again in better circumstances.”

Crane turned the page over but the back was blank. There were a few more pages underneath but those were blank as well.

"If you want to turn back to the pictures of Jeremy and the watch, I'll take some pictures with my phone."

After taking the photos, I went to look for a restroom so I could wash the smell of moldy paper off my hands. Baker was at his desk in the squad room. He smiled as I came in.

"Hi Lieutenant. Is Mr. Crane finding any leads on his ancestor?"

"He thinks there might be a connection between his ancestor and the person who wrote those papers, so he's really excited. It's nice of you to make the evidence available for us to review."

"No problem. Glad you guys are finding some leads because I've been coming up dry on the A & R at the Taylors'. Once the watch leaves the victim's house, the trail goes cold. Fortunately, I think Taylor's wife is just glad he’s doing better and not so concerned with recovering the watch."

"I'll be sure and send the Taylors some flowers from me and Crane."

Baker tilted his head to one side. "So you guys are 'colleagues' huh?"

"Yeah he's... not from around here." _(No lie!)_ "I'm just helping him out."

Baker nodded, cleared his throat. "So I, um, have to be in the city in a couple weeks and wondered if you wanted to hang out or anything?"

God help me, I felt like I was going behind Crane’s back for considering it. Even I could tell how messed up that was. So... maybe that was all the more reason I should go?

I sneaked a quick peek at Baker as he fiddled with his phone. He was.. cute. And he seemed nice; he had been a big help with Crane's investigation. Oh yeah, and he was available.

"... so I understand if maybe you want to do it another time or whatever."

"In a couple weeks is good. Let's hang out then."

"Oh..." He looked surprised, then the dimple put in an appearance as he broke into a grin, “That's great. If it's ok, I'll call you and-"

Just then Crane walked over with the file box containing Jeremy's papers. He looked quickly from Baker to me, but I couldn't read his expression.

"Sergeant, we are profoundly appreciative of your making this evidence available to us. It has been most helpful in uncovering more details about my mysterious ancestor."

"Anytime."

Baker and Crane shook hands, followed by a longer handshake for me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Crane raise an eyebrow.

***

I took the shortest, swamp-free route to the highway as Crane looked through the photos I'd taken. He looked at Jeremy's portrait for a long time, zooming for a close-up of his son's face.

"He looks happy."

"He does," Crane sighed. "The revelation that his life had happiness - even love - comforts me immensely. Although he knew great pain, I am heartened that was not his only experience. Thank you, Ms. Mills, for this gift of solace you have given me."

"Knowing he was happy makes me feel better, too," I smiled. "How did the photos of the watch turn out?"

He scrolled through the photos. "The picture of the door with the engraving of the demon’s face is blurred. How very odd. The photographs of my son are perfectly clear, so I do not believe your device is malfunctioning."

"Crane! Do you recall on the Antiques Roadshow TV show, the image of the demon’s face was blurred there too!"

"You are correct, Ms. Mills! As with your photographs, the other images were clear, only the face of the demon was faded."

"Do you think there's something about that part of watch that prevents it being photographed?"

"I am.. unsure. Fortunately, I have the drawing here," he tapped his forehead. "Unfortunately, Jeremy did not acquire his talent from me as I am a poor artist."

"I can't believe you just admitted you're bad at something."

"There are a great many areas where I fail." He looked at me for a moment then directed his eyes toward the passenger side window.

***

"So it's... a weird picture of a demon. Do you think the wavy lines behind it are supposed to be water?"

"Perhaps," Crane shrugged. "The lines on its neck might also be interpreted as gills."

"Maybe it's a water demon? Jenny said the wisp things are a type of those."

"It seems a logical hypothesis," Crane nodded, "but there is still something odd about this picture, is there not? Would you care for more coffee?"

"Love some. Thanks."

Crane got up from the table and refilled my mug from the coffee pot on the wood stove. (We were at the cabin.) I watched as he added a small pour of milk and a largish teaspoon of sugar. He could make coffee the way I liked it better than I could, by that point.

He was right about the picture being weird. It was kind of like there were extra lines that didn't fit. Maybe it was like those magic eye pictures they had when I was a kid, where you had to squint at it or look at it from a weird angle to see the hidden picture?

I walked over to the kitchen window and held the drawing up to the sunlight, turned it upside down, tried squinting at it while holding it sideways.

"How clever you are Lieutenant," I heard Crane whisper. Oh. I didn't realize he was standing right behind me. 

"As you realized, the Aramaic characters are clearly visible when viewed backward. May I?" He reached over my shoulder for the drawing, which he carried to the table.

"Yes, clearly early Aramaic. Might I trouble you for a mirror to make this easier to read?"

I brought Crane the makeup mirror from my purse then sat down at the table to finish my coffee. (There was no way in hell I was sitting on the couch... possibly ever again.)

Holding the mirror beside the drawing, he transcribed the unfamiliar characters to a yellow notepad. 

"Are you and Sergeant Baker courting?" He continued writing as he said it, never looking up from the notepad. I wondered if I heard him right.

"What?"

He looked up, his eyes meeting mine for a split-second, then turned back to the notepad as he continued writing. I felt my stomach turn over at his smoldering gaze.

I felt flustered for a second, which rapidly changed to pissed off.

"If we're going there, does that mean questions about Katrina are on the table, too?"

He made a scoffing sound and continued writing.

"Hypocritical much?" (No response at all to that; big shock.)

I started a round of Angry Birds on my phone.

***

"Kindly bear in mind, this is not my best translation work. The meter bears almost no resemblance to that of the original Aramaic and the level of expression, frankly, is much debased."

"I promise not to think anything bad about your meter, Crane. Can I please just see the translation?"

He sighed and slowly handed over the sheet of yellow lined paper he was clutching to his chest.

As I reached for the paper he jerked his arm back, holding it above his head. "Also, under no circumstances, should it be read aloud. Doing so is... an unwise idea, even in translation."

"Read silently; got it. Can I see it already?"

"Fine," he sighed as he placed the paper in my outstretched hand.

     "As the rightful owner of this vessel  
     I alone command thee, bideth here until I call.  
     We, your servants, await thy bidding  
     Tyrant of the deep, before thy wrath, we fall.

     These eons past, thou waited  
     But your slumber now shall cease.  
     Muster thy armies, thy demonic forces  
     By these words I thee release."

_What... the... hell?_ "Is it my imagination or does it seem like this is summoning something?"

"I do not believe it is your imagination, as that is how I interpreted the inscription as well."

I re-read it, taking it a line at a time. "You're the 'rightful owner' of the watch, right?"

"I... believe so," Crane stroked his beard, "its ownership would have passed to my heirs upon my death but, as I am no longer dead, I expect it should be mine again. I must confess, I have never before considered the thorny legalities resurrection presents.

"We're good then, maybe? If only you can summon it, don't read this thing out loud. Ever. Going to burn this paper just to be on the safe side."

"Thank goodness," Crane sighed. "It is a hideously poor translation."

I crumpled the translation and Crane's drawing of the inscription and tossed them in the belly of the woodstove. We both stood and watched as they were consumed by the flames.

"Has Ms. Sharon contacted you in regard to the hellmouth?"

"Actually, no... and I expected to hear from her by now. Want to swing by there and see what's up? We can go by the palace or the Scottish place on the way. Your pick."

"Am I correct in my assumption that I am making a dubious choice between White Castle and McDonalds?


	6. Chapter 6

Crane brought our demon hunting kit and I brought a coffee for the cop at the barricade.  
   
As we approached the hellmouth, I was surprised to see Sharon in the alley. She was standing, with her back to us, by the wire contraption she and Crane had built. The wires' current illuminated the alley with an eerie blue glow. It had rained earlier that evening and her clothing appeared to be soaking wet, as though she had been standing there a long time.  
   
"Sharon? Hi... um... you ok there?"  
   
She nodded slowly, not turning around. Her hands were still and motionless, at her sides.  
   
"May we assist you, Ms. Sharon?"  
   
She shook her head slowly, her back still toward us.  
   
Oh crap. Was Sharon ok? Should I call Jenny? Or maybe the hospital in Tarrytown?  
   
"We offer you a chance to end this now," a deep voice said. As Sharon slowly turned around, I clutched Crane's arm when I saw her contorted features and white eyes.  
   
***  
Crane pov  
   
The Sharon-demon stretched one arm toward me. As it opened its outstretched hand, I already knew what would be there.  
   
"Read the inscription and perhaps we will let you live."  
   
"An interesting proposition. May I examine the timepiece?"  
   
The demon slowly nodded, the vertebrae in its neck making a hideous grinding sound as it did so. _Poor Ms. Sharon._  
   
I handed the duffel bag to the lieutenant, observing her worried expression.

"You ok?" She mouthed.  
   
I nodded and attempted a reassuring smile.  
   
I plucked the timepiece from the demon's hand.  The device was uncomfortably hot to the touch. I had to grab my handkerchief from my pocket, to avoid burning my fingers.  
   
Other than the latch for the compartment, it appeared to be the timepiece I remembered.  I opened the compartment and read the inscription.  The words were the same as Jeremy's drawing.  
   
"My recollection of the timepiece does not include this compartment. For my own curiosity, might you enlighten me of its origin?"  
   
"When we could not discover your body's resting place, the spirit of a serpent was entombed in the timepiece. Its spell was bound to yours, to awaken when you did."  
   
"How very interesting. I reject your offer," I said as I tossed the timepiece I into the hellmouth... where it hovered in the air for a moment, then floated back to the Sharon-demon's outstretched hand." _Ah. Wasn't expecting that._  
   
"We thought you were smarter. Pity. Either end this now or your son becomes the rightful owner by your death. Perhaps he will be more agreeable."  
   
"My son is... alive?"  
   
"The acolyte witch led him to us. When he came to her rescue, he was put under a sleeping spell.   
   
"No!" The lieutenant lunged toward the demon's throat... and was immediately flung backward into the darkness of the alley.  I heard a sickening thud when she landed.  
   
"Abbie!" I attempted to run after her... only to discover that my feet seemed to have been bolted to the ground. I was trapped.  
   
"Will you read the inscription or must we see if your son can be coerced."  
   
Might the demon be telling the truth? I recalled that the Four Who Speak as One had told me my son’s heart was stopped, but not that he had died. If there was any possibility, even the slimmest chance, the very last thing I wanted was for Jeremy to face the being who stood before me now. "You will leave my son out of this."  
   
"You have bored us enough. Read or perish."  
   
Desperately trying to think of a plan, I put my hands behind my back and began to recite the inscription from memory as slowly as I could. However, as I spoke the ancient words it... became difficult to stop or to slow my speech. Leaning over the edge of the hellmouth, I could see a cloud of wisp demons floating gently, peacefully toward the rim.  
   
As I reached the last line of the inscription, I had broken into a sweat with my failed effort at delay. As I reached the final word, I took a deep breath. Goodbye, dear Lieutenant, goodbye my son who may yet live. May we meet again in better circumstances.  
   
A jet of water exploded against the Sharon-demon.  The demon bellowed as it fell backward against one of the poles of the hellmouth enclosure.  
   
"I'm sorry, Sharon!" The lieutenant yelled as she pressurized the water gun for another shot. I could hear the demon's leathery flesh sizzle where the salt water struck it.  
   
"Ms. Mills? Mr. Crane?" From the ground, Ms. Sharon addressed the brick wall behind us. "Tell me you haven't read the inscription?! It's terribly important that you don't-" her features contorted then as her back arched off the pavement. "It's coming back..."  
   
I watched as her trembling hand reached for one of the glowing electrical wires that had been knocked to the ground when the demon fell. "No!" I heard the deep voice shout just as Ms. Sharon's hand clasped the wire.  
   
As Ms. Sharon's body convulsed, I felt the ground begin to tremble beneath my feet. The tremble was followed almost immediately by a rumbling sound as the pavement around the rim of the hellhole began to fall inward, collapsing on itself.  
   
I felt oddly peaceful as I watched the web of cracks emanating from the hole spread outward.  
   
"Crane!" The lieutenant nearly jerked my arm from its socket. "Move your skinny ass! It's caving in!"  
   
The rumble became deafening as we ran toward the end of the alley. I turned around just in time to see the back wall of the supermarket fall into the hole.  
   
***  
Abbie pov  
   
The cop peeked around the barricade, "Are you guys ok? There was this loud noise and... Holy shit!" His mouth hung open as he stared at the half-collapsed A &P.  
   
"Thanks Matt. We're ok." _More or less._  
   
"That must have been one hell of a gas leak!"  
   
"It was... um... yeah." I nodded. "Everything ok up front?"  
   
"No problems with the barricade. How about back here? The A &P was closed for the night, so no injuries there."  
   
I looked for Sharon's body but the spot where she died had fallen into the hole. Ugh. What would I tell Jenny?  
   
I got out my phone to call the station, thinking how to word my report.  Was it a gas leak? A sinkhole? Sewer line break?  
   
"Are you injured, Lieutenant?" Crane touched my sleeve. "I heard you fall."  
   
"I landed in the pile of garbage by the dumpster. I'm ok... except for the reek."  
   
We both looked at the pile where I'd landed. The indent of my body was clearly visible in the mound of trash. If the demon had thrown me another foot, my head would have hit the brick wall.  
   
"You are fortunate to be alive, Lieutenant."  
   
He looked sad. Damn him. "Let's go see if Matt needs any help," I sighed.  
   
***  
"It is a bit like decayed shellfish with a hint of wet dog."  
   
"I stink that bad?"  
   
"Kindly do not put words in my mouth; I would never use that word in reference to a lady." Crane had his handkerchief over his nose, which was pressed against the window opening. "I believe I said 'piquant aroma.' Also bear in mind I am accustomed to 18th century standards of hygiene."  
   
"Fine," I huffed. "Do you mind if I use your shower, your royal highness?"  
   
He had gotten out of the car the instant we came to a stop, but leaned back in to answer. "A shower... what an inventive idea. I am so glad you thought of it. Also, as I am but an earl, 'my lord' or 'your lordship' will suffice."  
   
"You have so got to be kidding..." I said, but Crane had already gone to unlock the cabin.  
   
While Crane bustled around, I called Jenny to tell her about Sharon, but got her voicemail.  
   
"Was that Ms. Jenny?"  
   
I nodded. "Left a message."  
   
Crane patted my shoulder for a minute, kind of giving me the "are you going to cry again?" look. Then took a deep breath and said, "You'll find fresh towels and pajamas in the washroom, Lieutenant."  
   
"Oh - am I staying here?" My stupid heart skipped a beat as I said the words.  
   
"You are most welcome, of course."  
   
"Well, I’ll just..." I pointed toward the bathroom, then practically ran in there.  
   
***  
   
Crane’s shower was probably an environmental nightmare because it was freaking awesome. The pressure was like standing under a waterfall, only hot. There is a possibility I may have sung just a little, as it washed away the shittyness of the day we'd had. By the time I finished, the bathroom was totally fogged with steam (which was good because I had no desire to see what my hair looked like.)  
   
The pajamas were an old-guy plaid flannel set that must have been Corbin's. The fabric was really soft and cozy, like it had been washed a million times.  I had to roll up the shirt and pants so they would sort-of fit.  
   
Crane wasn't exaggerating about my clothes' level of stench. I picked them up between my thumb and forefinger and carried them to the laundry room. I started a load of wash, then wandered back to the living room.  
   
"Thank you for letting me use the shower. I hope I didn't monopolize-"  
   
Crane was fast asleep on the sofa. He had taken off his coat and boots, but was otherwise fully dressed. It looked like he had sat down to watch the news (which was still on) and fallen asleep.  
   
His long legs were propped on the coffee table. His mouth was slightly open and he snored softly.   
   
I got the throw from the other end of the sofa and went to drape it over him. He looked different when he was sleeping, sort of vulnerable. I couldn't resist rubbing his shoulder for a second as I tucked the blanket around it. He immediately turned his face toward my arm, rubbing his cheek against it like a cat. His beard felt slightly scratchy but... not necessarily in a bad way. I let my fingertips brush against it as I drew my arm back.  
   
I got a blanket from the linen closet and curled up at the other end of the couch to watch the news while I waited for my laundry to finish. (Ok, I lied when I said I was never sitting on the sofa again.)  
   
***  
Crane pov  
   
In my mind's eye, I kept envisioning the outline where the demon had thrown the lieutenant, her head inches from the brick wall. I could have lost her. Say it plainly: she could have died. My mind skirted around close consideration of that potentiality. The very idea of being in this place and this time with the one person who made it bearable was... literally unthinkable.  
   
I rubbed my forehead, willing the vision to pass.  
   
Thankfully, the lieutenant had agreed to stay that night. Having come so close to losing her, the ever-present desire to have her near was more like a...  
   
Need. The notion was a bit discomfiting, frankly. I had left my homeland, family, and wife to go to war without a backward glance. I missed them, of course, but was perfectly sufficient on my own. Until now.  
   
Was that Ms. Mills singing? I'd no idea she had such a fine voice. It was a bit difficult to hear at present, being muffled by the sound of the water.  
   
Because she was... taking a shower.  Presumably naked. A few feet away... and, one presumes, she might be tipping her head back to allow the hot water to pour over the curve of her throat, her shapely breasts, the lush curve of her hips and magnificent backside. Her dainty hands might be preparing to lather her... No.  
   
I quickly adjusted my trousers, which had become uncomfortably tight, and forced myself to concentrate on the news I was supposedly watching. Ah, apparently a local market was damaged by a sizable gas leak, which was now repaired. Fine bit of theatre, that.  
   
Had I handled the matter with the demon properly? I was still far from certain that I had. I felt Ms. Sharon's loss and wished I'd known this brilliant woman better.  
   
And what of the demon's comment that Jeremy might still live? I would have discounted it as lies except that it confirmed what the Four Who Speak as One... suggested? Vaguely hinted? (Could witches never say a thing directly?)  
   
The television switched to a commercial interlude, so I closed my eyes for just a moment, experience having taught how tedious these could be.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Abbie pov

I woke up the next morning to discover I had sprawled the length of the sofa. And drooled.

Crane was in the kitchen. I grabbed my purse and went racing by him to the bathroom. I thought the drool was the worst until I saw my hair, which appeared to have been used as a nest by small, very active animals. (I made the best of it with the stuff in my makeup bag.)

When I finally emerged, the delicious smell of bacon greeted me.

"Good morning, Ms. Mills. May I trust you slept well?" He grinned.

Ugh. "You saw, didn't you?"

"I have no idea what you are referring to." Crane continued smiling as he turned the bacon in the skillet. "If you would provide transport, I would gladly clean your car today. I fear the upholstery may have suffered the same fate as your garments yesterday."

"That's sweet of you to offer, but you don't have to go to all that trouble."

"You saved my life and I clean your vehicle; it seems a more than equitable trade. Besides, it reeks and I have no other means of transportation."

"I've offered to teach you to drive so many times I've lost count." _But I hope you never take me up on it because it's an excuse to hang out with you._

"I appreciate the offer, Lieutenant. It is most generous of you. Perhaps someday." He bowed slightly. "I believe this is ready. Would you care for eggs?"

***

As we finished breakfast, I remembered what I had meant to show Crane. "I've got something for you... but I'm warning you in advance you can't keep it, ok?"

"Agreed."

I felt around in my purse until I found the pocket watch. "Here you go. Sharon must have dropped it." Crane's fingertips brushed mine as he took the watch. It looked tiny in his hand.

"I have to turn it in to Sergeant Baker, so he can return it to the Taylors, but I thought you might want to see it one more time."

"It is hard to imagine so many problems arose from such a small thing." Crane opened the compartment and peered at the engraving. "It is different now. Look."

The inscription had disappeared; it was just a picture of a gargoyle.

"Let me try something..." I snapped a picture of the engraving with my phone. The photo was clear. "I think it's just an old watch now."

"I believe it can be returned to the Taylors without risking their safety," Crane said as he handed the watch back to me. (I put it in my purse, for safekeeping.)

I fiddled with my coffee cup as I tried to think how to phrase what I wanted to ask. "Do you mind if we talk about stuff from yesterday for a minute?"

"Of course not."

"Do you believe what the demon said about Jeremy? That he might be alive somewhere?"

"Possibly. It would seem to correspond to what the Four Who Speak as One had previously told me."

"If you want to try and find him, I'm down with that. I can probably twist Jenny's arm to help too."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. I confess this offer holds far more appeal to me than learning to pilot a vehicle; although you are most kind to offer this as well."

"I wondered if maybe Katrina had said anything else, like where Jeremy might be, so we knew where to start looking?"

"Ah, no." His hands flexed. "Alas, she was very succinct in regard to this matter. And since then we have not spoken."

I tried to remember how long ago Katrina told Crane about Jeremy. He hadn't talked with her since way back then?

Unsure what to say, I put my hand over Crane's on the table. He clasped my hand, then rubbed his thumb slowly, back and forth, over my knuckles. "Thank you, Ms. Mills," he said softly.

That was my cue to make a joke, but instead I sat there watching as his thumb drew circles on the back of my hand. "For what?"

"For saving my life. For not dying. I hardly know where to begin."

My hand looked so small in his. "Back at you," I whispered as I stroked my fingertips against the tendons at the bottom of his wrist, feeling them flex beneath my touch.

I sneaked a look at Crane. He seemed as hypnotized by our hands as I was. His nostrils were slightly flared and I could see his chest rise and fall with each breath. He bit his lip when I dragged one fingernail across the calloused ridges on his palm.

When my phone buzzed, we both startled and jerked our hands apart.

"I'll see to the dishes." Crane got up from the table then bolted to the kitchen like his ass was on fire.

I took a deep breath, let it out, then picked up my phone. Thank God it was a text, because there was no way I felt like talking right then.

It was from Sergeant Baker. "Hi Abbie. Hope you have a better day today. :) "

He had texted me video of a kitten. An off-screen person’s hands tickled its belly. When the hands stopped, the kitten put up its arms, like it was surprised. I had seen it before, but had forgotten how cute it was.

Crane came in to the room while I was laughing. I took the phone to show him. "Look how funny this cat video is."

"Who is Jeff?"

"It’s Sergeant Baker; the guy you met at the Taylors. Watch what the kitten does when the hand tickles it. It's really cute."

As we watched the video again, I felt Crane put his arm lightly around my back. I wanted to return the embrace, but forced myself to stand still.

"Can you help me verify my understanding? Is this how it works?" His fingers tickled my ribs. I shrieked and jumped a foot in the air.

I put my phone down on the table as Crane laughed. Oh, he wanted to play that, did he? I walked toward him as he put up his hands. "Actually, I think it was more like..." I swooped in quickly, my hands tickling his sides.

I was sort of mesmerized by watching Crane laugh, as I realized how few times I'd seen it. He had a beautiful smile with tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes and he looked relaxed and, well, happy. Unfortunately, that meant I forgot what I was doing for a moment, giving him time to put his arms around me and tickle me again.

"I surrender..." I panted. Crane drew back his arms.

"...nothing." I immediately tickled his belly.

"You are a treacherous opponent, Lieutenant," he laughed, "but you have met your match." He wrapped his arms around me and tickled my ribs.

My laughter gradually turned to awareness of where I was. Crane’s arms were around me and my hands were pressed to his chest. I could feel his hands uncurl at my sides and I shivered as I felt the warmth of his palms traveling across my back. His eyes were heavy-lidded as he looked from my eyes to my mouth.

I felt thrilled and terrified at the same time as his handsome face moved toward mine. I could feel Crane's heart pounding beneath my hand. My own heart was beating so fast I felt light-headed.

Abruptly, Crane stopped. I felt his hands clench the fabric at the back of my blouse. He pressed a lightning-quick kiss to my forehead, then his hands released me as he took a step back.

He ran his hands roughly through his hair. "Ms. Mills, I... entreat your forgiveness."

_Oh shit. Do not even let him start apologizing or there will be no end of awkward._ I exhaled the breath I just realized I'd been holding.

"It's ok, Crane. Cat videos affect a lot of people that way. It’s my fault for not warning you beforehand." I patted his arm as I made a fake-serious expression. "That's probably why they're half of the internet."

His gaze moved upward from the floor to meet my eyes. He raised an eyebrow. "You are teasing me?" After a pause, the corners of his mouth quirked upward. "Half of the internet? Really?"

"Pretty much." _The other half is porn._ "So, yeah, cat videos are definitely a force to be reckoned with." I snapped my fingers, like I just had some sort of big freaking idea. "I get it now! You were trying to make me forget you were going to wash my car, weren't you?"

"You are too clever for my schemes, Lieutenant," Crane smiled and I felt the awkwardness evaporate, finally. "But now that you have caught me, shall we see to your vehicle?"

***  
Crane pov

"Dearest Ms. Mills,

Earlier today, I told you I hardly knew where to begin to thank you. May I entreat your patience as I endeavor to begin here?

Thank you for saving me from the consequences of the foolish and ill-considered impulses that arise from my infatuation with everything about you. I richly deserve to feel ridiculous much of the time and yet, because of your kindness and quick wit with a well-timed joke or change of subject, I find myself laughing instead. Can you possibly know how much joy you bring me?

I have mentioned my admiration, but let me justify the many reasons for it. I love your courage, insight, and unfailing empathy. I love how you tap your coffee spoon against the side of your cup three times before laying it into the saucer. After you take the first sip, provided the coffee is properly prepared, you then make a very soft humming sound. I could never grow weary of hearing this sound if I labored until the end of time to do so. I thought I might die of admiration – or possibly abject terror – the first time you executed a (what did you call it?) pit maneuver whilst I was a passenger in your vehicle. I love how you take the time and extra effort to learn the names of those others overlook and try to help them, like Ms. Sharon.

I love our working partnership and - may I here confess it? - would gladly partner with you in any way you would have me. I would never mention the dream we do not talk about (another thing we do not talk about) but have considered many times why a demon would give something pleasurable. I can only conclude its purpose, on my side, was to drive me mad with longing for what, or rather, whom, I can never have. You have seen the fruits of this madness in my seeming inability to maintain proper decorum when you are around, particularly when we are alone together. I am ashamed of the immaturity of my actions, yet seem to be powerless to stop them (although I shall redouble my efforts to cease.)

In respect for the many burdens you already bear so gracefully, I cannot further encumber you by expressing the true nature of my feelings, particularly as they must come to nothing. Yet it is like dying again to see another courting you when there is nothing I would not give to be the one to seek your heart."

I tapped my pen on the table, as I collected my thoughts, then poured myself another shot of rum.

  " **A** keen shot with a Super-Soaker,  
    **B** ravest of partners,  
    **B** osom friend,  
    **I** am at a loss for how to let you go  
    **E** ven though I know it is for the best.

Your most affectionate and most humble servant,

Ichabod Crane”

I read the letter over again, cringing at the Super-Soaker reference. Clearly, I was drunk. I folded the letter and put it in the drawer beneath the table. I would burn it tomorrow.

***  
Abbie pov

I was in the living room at the last apartment we lived in where I still had a mom and a dad. I heard Jenny talking on the phone in the kitchen about a video she'd seen on MTV.

Mom was having a conversation with one of the soap operas she watched. It was so good to see her. I waited until the commercial, then went over to kiss her cheek. "Shh," she whispered, "tv."

Dad waited by the door. He had on the coat he wore the last time I saw him and held a suitcase. As I approached, he put down the suitcase and held his arms out to me. I stepped into the hug and his wonderful dad smell of Newport cigarettes and the engines he worked on. "I'm going to miss you, baby girl but I can't take the crazy here any more. If you're smart, like I know you are, you'll get out too."

I looked over at mom. Wouldn't she hear him? But she was talking to the television again.

The scene changed to the bedroom at the cabin. Crane and i were lying in top of the covers on the bed. His arms were around me and my head rested on his chest.

He has this delicious smell that I think is just him. It's sort of like leather and something else that melts my brain. I pressed my face to his chest, appreciating the eau de Crane. "I can't do this forever you know. You're going to break or I am and it will be the biggest mess and we'll be stuck with it for the next six years and probably wind up hating each other."

When Crane didn't respond, I tipped my head back to see his face. His eyes had the hooded look again and he smiled. "I said something to you in Greek. What was it?"

His fingertip traced my cheekbone, then his hand moved to cradle the back of my head as he brought his closed lips to mine. I shut my eyes and gave in to the sweetness of it. Crane's fingertips brushed against my face as he kissed along my jaw, the shell of my ear, my throat.

I heard the bedroom door open. Crane looked up and said (surprisingly calmly), "Look who's here."

As Katrina entered, I braced myself as I waited to spontaneously combust. Instead, there was a gust of wind which blew Katrina’s hair around (even though we were indoors) then she said, "The file cabinet by the door. You haven't looked there. As usual, this doesn't make sense."

She lay down on the other side of Crane. Then, it was like the bed was getting smaller or they were pushing me off, because I kept moving closer and closer to the edge. I clutched at Crane's arm, expecting him to pull me back. Instead, he gave me a sad look and mouthed, "Sorry." Then I felt myself falling and I woke up.

I looked around my living room. The Netflix menu was displayed. I must have fallen asleep while watching tv.

_What a crazy dream._ I got up to put my wineglass in the sink and brush my teeth.

***  
Luke pov - 1 month later

"The phrase 'getting back together' doesn't come into this conversation. 'Crane is a douchebag' is off the table, too. And five minutes is too long; you can have four. And they start now." Abbie crossed her arms over her chest as she gave me a look I recognized from the interrogation room.

Why was she so defensive of someone talking smack about Crane? Maybe because she knew deep down it was the truth.

I forced myself to calm down. _Four minutes; not a lot of time._

"Abbie, you know I care about you."

She fake-laughed. "Okaayyy."

Damn. She wasn't making this easy. "And because I care about you, I have to ask if you really don't get that Crane is using you? Does he even have a job, Abbie? Or are you his meal ticket, too?"

Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean 'too'?"

"Give me a break. Everyone at the station talks about you guys and your afternoon delight archives."

Abbie rolled her eyes. "If that's the best you guys can do, it's kind of sad. And here I was thinking my life was boring."

What the hell did she see in the jerk? It was so obvious how far out of Crane’s league she was. Did she care more about a fancy accent than a nice guy who cared about her? She didn't seem like the superficial type but I guess that joke was on me, because look who she was with.

"Jones told me he's married, too."

Abbie looked at her watch. "Three minutes left."

"He said his wife is in prison in England because Crane framed her for murder."

"You're funny," Abbie gave me a patronizing smile. "If you're going to make up random crap, why not be creative and bust out something really crazy like his wife is a witch or Crane is a time traveler?"

The sarcasm act was starting to get old. "This little chat isn't exactly a barrel of laughs for me either, Abbie."

She slapped her palm on the top of her desk. "Finally! Something we agree on."

I took a deep breath, let it out slowly. This conversation wasn't going the way I meant it to _at all_. "What I'm trying to say, Abbie, is because I care about you, I don't want to see you get hurt. One thing I never told you is that my father was married, only not to my mom. She threw her whole life away thinking he would leave his wife for her. Only he never did."

The anger had left her face and she looked… maybe not exactly sympathetic, but as if she was at least hearing me.

"He never acknowledged me, either. That felt really good."

Abbie got up from the desk and walked over to stand in front of me.

"I'm so sorry, Luke. My dad wasn't around much either, but at least he was there for awhile. I can't imagine how hard that must have been." She put her hand on my arm.

"I almost met him once," I sighed. "My mom and I went where he was making a speech. She had me wear my good suit that I wore to church. I had on a bow tie and the whole thing. We stood in the back, by the exit, so he had to walk past us on the way out."

I had to stop talking for a second while I pinched the bridge of my nose until I could go on.

Finally, I continued, "I'll never forget it - he looked at my mom and then at me. Then he made a face like he smelled something bad and walked right by us. Didn't say a damn word. My mom didn't say anything, but I could tell she was trying not to cry. We went home and she fixed me a TV dinner and let me watch cartoons while I ate. She never let me do that, so I knew that shit was serious. She was different after that; sadder, or something. I think she knew, then, exactly what she didn't mean to him.  
  
And you… ” I paused, trying find the words, “…you deserve so much better than that, Abbie."

Abbie's eyes looked so sad.

I kind of half-laughed, to try and defuse the tension. "Damn, that got long! Sorry."

"I'm really sorry, Luke." Abbie rubbed my arm, then leaned forward and put her arms around me. I started to bring my arms up just as she moved away again.

"Thank you for telling me. You handle it really well because I had no idea." Her expression was so open, her eyes were so warm. I realized how much I had missed her.

"Anytime you want to talk, I'm here. I won't mention this to anybody else at the station." She took a breath, let it out. "I wasn't going to tell anybody this, because it's nobody's business, but I feel like you're sincere so I don't want you to worry." She swallowed. "Crane and I aren't involved like that. I've actually been out with a guy from the Albany bureau a couple times."

"Oh..." _She’s dating another cop?_ "So I guess it's just me you don't like, huh?" I heard bitterness creeping into my voice. "I thought I still had a chance when there was just Captain Hook between us, but I guess you have moved the hell on."

Her hands were clenched. "Please don't spoil this, Luke. I was hoping we can be friends again, like we used to be."

Friends. The other f-word. I felt sick every time she said it. "Well, I hope Officer Albany is smarter than me and doesn’t tell you he loves you because I'll never forget the deer in headlights look you gave me when I said it."

"It was after we broke up, Luke. After." I could hear the anger in her voice and see the tension in the muscles of her crossed arms.

"Face it, Abbie. You only want what you can't have." I was letting my anger do the talking because I sure as hell hadn't meant to say that.

"And you don't?” Her voice rose. “You were the one who came to my house in the middle of the night to share your big epiphany that you looooved me, remember? If there'd been some of that when we were dating... if you'd ever opened up to me..."

"Or you to me, Abbie," I whispered.

She shook her head and held up her hands. "I don't know. This is a pointless conversation."

"I'm opening up now." I bit my lip, hating myself for how I was about to sound like Desperate Guy. But, I had to, just in case there was a snowball's chance in hell. "Maybe we could... well, give it another try?"

"And there's the magic words!" She walked past me toward the door. She was walking quickly and I heard a thud as her hip collided with the file cabinet next to it.

"Dammit!" She stooped over and rubbed her hip, grimacing like she was in pain.

"Are you ok, Abbie?" I started toward her but she put her hand up.

"I'm ok, I just hit my hip on the stupid file cabinet... by… the… door."

It got freaky after that because her eyes got big and she stood there looking at the file cabinet like she'd never noticed it before. The expression on her face changed from pain to almost like excitement. She hurried over to the cabinet, like her hip didn't hurt anymore,and opened the top drawer. It was full of old books and papers. I felt a sneeze starting as soon as the musty odor hit my nostrils.

Her beautiful hands began sorting the smelly old papers. She smiled at me. "I haven't looked in here."

I stood there for another minute, but it seemed like she had forgotten I was there. "I'll be, um, heading back upstairs I guess."

"Luke?" She stopped what she was doing and looked up at me. "I promise I won't tell anybody about your dad. Thank you for trusting me."

"Sure thing, Abbie." I did sneeze then and I could feel my eyes start to itch. I knew I had better leave before I had a full-blown allergy attack.

I looked back at her from the end of the hall. She seemed to be pulling an old book out of the file cabinet. I heard her humming quietly (a tune I didn't recognize), looking totally engrossed again.

It hit me then that she had changed. The Abbie I remembered wouldn't have acted like a bunch of smelly crap was the most exciting thing she'd ever seen.

I guess she moved on in more ways than one. Or had I ever really known her at all?

Not sure quite what emotion I was feeling, I headed back upstairs to the station.

***  
Author’s note:  
This is the video Jeff sends Abbie: youtu.be/0Bmhjf0rKe8

Thank you so much for reading. :)


	8. Chapter 8

Jenny pov

"I'm really sorry about Sharon," Abbie said as she stirred her coffee. "You should know that her sacrifice wasn't in vain. If she hadn't closed the hellmouth, I'm not sure what we would have done. Basically, she saved Sleepy Hollow."

"Thanks," I nodded, "It would mean a lot to her to know that. She cared about winning this war."

I looked back and forth between my sister and Crane across the table at the IHOP we'd gone to after Sharon's memorial service. "I think she expected she might not survive the mission," I said. "I was open with her about how dangerous the demon was and it didn't even phase her." I took a sip of my coffee. "She missed the work she used to do; I think she never got over having to leave, when she got sick. I hope she's in a better place now."

Abbie and Crane exchanged a look.

"Speaking of... do you mind if I share something I found? I don't want to if this is a bad time."

"It's ok," I smiled. "Sharon would want you to."

Abbie took a deep breath. "I had a weird dream awhile back that told me to look for something in a file cabinet by a door. I forgot all about it for awhile until it finally occurred to me to look in the file cabinet in that location in the archives. Always so intuitive - that's me. Anyway... I found this."

She pulled a crumbly old book out of her purse and handed it across the table to me.

"The page I marked has a spell Crane thought might be for undoing other spells."

I scanned the page. " _Entente to relesche fram enchaunmens_. Intention of releasing or revoking from enchantment."

Crane nodded. "Precisely, Ms. Jenny. We wondered if perhaps-"

"-it could be used to free Jeremy from the spell cast by the Four Who Speak As One," Abbie finished.

They both looked at me like they thought I had all the freaking answers. But there was something obvious they hadn't thought about.

"You guys sure you want to do that right now?"

Crane’s brow furrowed. "Are you proposing we wait until the horseman has been vanquished, for Jeremy's safety?"

"Not exactly," I said. "I mean... where is he? We know from Crane's 200 year nap that the witches liked to bury the people they hexed. So, what happens if Jeremy wakes up six feet under with no way to escape?"

Crane looked even paler than usual. "I hadn't considered this."

Abbie touched his sleeve. "Maybe we should find him first?"

"Sounds like you need a locator spell for subjects under enchantment."

They both looked at me.

"I know of a spell but - slight problem - it requires an artifact I don't have. Hang on... let me see if I can find a picture of it on my phone." I rummaged through my "wish list" file until I found it, then handed the phone across the table to Abbie.

Crane looked over her shoulder. "I have seen this... somewhere."

Abbie turned toward him, "Do you remember where it was? Not in England, I hope."

"I think not," Crane's fingertips petted his beard, "I believe it was here... but in the past. It is certainly a Masonic emblem."

"A crowned eagle; the emblem of St. John," I said. "If you can find it, and the locator spell doesn't destroy it, I have a buyer who will pay a lot - seriously a LOT - for it."

The wonder twins looked at each other again. "Thank you, Ms. Jenny. I shall attempt to recall where I witnessed the artifact."

There was one part that still puzzled me. "Abs, was there anything weird about the dream where you found out about the file cabinet? Did you feel like you weren't in control of your actions or see anymore of the wisp demons?" I was trying to figure out if it was a real dream or if someone - or something - else had directed her to find the spellbook.

"Nope; nothing like that.” She tapped her coffee cup, like she was thinking. “Maybe it was just my subconscious telling me I hadn't looked there and the rest was luck?"

"Let's hope that's all it was, but be extra careful just in case."

***

Abbie pov

Before I could reply to Crane’s question, I had to mute my phone for a second so I could dance around while yelling, "Yesyesyes!" 

"Sorry. Just getting a drink of water."

"You sound a bit winded. I trust you are well?"

"Definitely well. And, I think horses are a _great_ idea to get to the Masonic hall, since it’s in the middle of a forest and it doesn't look like there are any roads."

"Splendid. Via your marvelous Internet, I have researched livery barns in the vicinity and have found several offerings that may suit. May I trust you are a capable rider."

_Uh oh._ "Not... exactly."

"Ah. A bit rusty, then?"

"If by 'rusty' you mean 'never' you're on the right track."

There was a long pause and I started to be afraid he'd changed his mind. "...but I've always really liked horses." _On tv._ "I hope that's not a deal breaker?"

"Of course not. I shall find a stable with suitable offerings."

***

Crane pov

"Has your wife ever ridden before?"

I was unsure whether I should correct Ms. Gwen's assumption. To avoid an explanation, I decided it would be best to let the matter stand. "Alas, no, this is her first foray. But I expect she will be an apt pupil as she excels at most everything."

We both turned to watch the lieutenant with her horse, Sweetie, who was in the corral across the yard. I could hear Ms. Mills speaking to the animal quietly, but was unable to make out her words.

"Ordinarily we insist that our guide accompany you, but since your wife is a cop and you're a better rider than our guide, I'm ok with it... if you're sure?"

As we planned to vandalize a historic site, a guide was the last thing I desired. "Quite sure. Thank you, Ms. Gwen, for your confidence." I glanced at the lieutenant again. "You are certain Sweetie is the gentlest mount you have?"

Ms. Gwen smiled. "Definitely. Sweetie's used to new riders and wiggly children. She'll take good care of your wife."

Ms. Gwen put her head to one side, "if you don't mind my asking, are you guys newlyweds? You both have that 'look'."

"That 'look' you say?"

"This part of New York is a popular destination for honeymooners, so believe me, I know the goo-goo-eyes-when-you-look-at-each-other look when I see it." She smiled warmly. "Enjoy... and congratulations."

"Thank you, Ms. Gwen.” I felt myself blushing. “If I may impose on your patience, could you please help me confirm the accuracy of the location of the Fredericks Hamlet settlement on this trail map?"

"Sure, let's take a peek... but I promise you won't even need a map. The horses have been there so many times that they know the way."

 

***

Abbie pov

"Ms. Mills, you must keep your heels down and your toes up. And you are seated too far back in the saddle. You must balance properly or you will be most uncomfortable tomorrow."

When I agreed to this riding thing I thought my horse would be ambling along while I parked my ass and admired the scenery. This morning, I found out riding takes work! There were all these rules about what to do with my hands and feet and, my God, Crane was badgering me to death about each and every thing I was messing up (which seemed to be pretty much everything.)

I tuned Crane out for a minute to enjoy the sound of Sweetie's hoofbeats and gentle rolling motion of her back. Crane's nagging aside, I was still so excited to be riding a real live horse!

My horse's name was Sweetie. She was a beautiful rich chestnut color and she was my new bestie. When she ate a carrot from my hand, back at the stable, and allowed me to pet her velvety soft coat, I fell in love. I wanted to pet her right then, as I rode along, but Crane had pestered me so much about the "proper" way to hold the reins that I was afraid to move my hands.

Crane's horse was this massive grey beast named Max (which was short for Maximus). I had to admit Crane looked pretty damn dashing on horseback with his pirate gear and perfect posture.

When we were at the stable, earlier, Gwen and Patty (the other lady who worked there) both came outside to watch when Crane and Max were galloping around the corral. Crane did some complicated trick involving Max turning in a circle in the middle of the corral, and I thought I heard Patty sigh.

The part of the trail we were on now was narrow, so we had to ride single file. Crane insisted I ride in front, presumably so he could continuously nitpick my riding form, which was apparently the worst thing he had ever seen, judging from the continuous stream of complaining.

"Heels down, Ms. Mills, if you please."

"They are down, if you please." I singsonged.

"I assure you they are not." We were at a wider point in the trail by then and Crane rode up beside me and pointed to his own foot. "This is the desired posture, you see how my heel is down and relaxed."

"I could relax more if you were less nitpicky, maybe."

He was quiet for a moment. "Apologies. I did not mean to be pedantic. And you are doing exceedingly well, particularly given your limited experience." He looked embarrassed.

"Thank you," I gave him a small smile. "Like I told you, I've wanted to ride a horse for my whole life and I was hoping to just kind of... enjoy it. Would it really be so bad if my heels aren't perfect?"

"That rule actually serves a purpose. If the horse bolts, you are more likely to fall - or, worse yet, have your foot catch in the stirrup and be dragged - if your heel is up."

_Whoops._ "In that case, thanks for looking out for me."

"It is my great pleasure. And I shall try to keep the gentle reminders to a minimum."

I wondered if Crane was joking and looked over to see him smiling at me.

"Anyway... the bolting thing is probably something that would only be a problem with other horses. Sweetie would never because she’s beautiful and perfect in every way."

"I am certain she is a particularly fine animal and would never do intentionally; however, most any horse will bolt if startled, such as by a loud noise or sudden movement."

After a pause. "You are quite taken with her, are you not?"

"I want to adopt her. Think she could live in my backyard?"

He smiled again. "It may be a little smaller than she is accustomed, but I am sure she would do her best."

I liked hanging out with Crane most of the time (when he wasn't pissing me off) but I loved being around him when he was relaxed like this. He was always a good friend but, at times like this, it was hard not to wish he could be, well, more than that.

I let my mind drift back to the day at the cabin when Jeff texted me the video and Crane almost kissed me. I remembered how warm his palms had felt against my back and how I could feel his heart beating beneath my hand pressed to his chest. Our faces had been so close, I could see his individual eyelashes, the flecks of blue in his beautiful eyes, as his half-lidded gaze traveled from my eyes to my mouth. I remembered how I felt both relief and overwhelming disappointment when he'd stopped.

I sneaked a quick peek over at Crane to find him looking back at me. Dammit! Feeling awkward, I redirected my eyes to the _unbelievably fascinating_ trees around us.

Why did I torture myself like this? I remembered, now, how I also felt like I'd been playing with fire that day at the cabin. Actually, I think that was the day we both realized that's exactly what we were doing.

I could tell Crane distanced himself from me since then - just little things like not sitting as close or hanging around together outside of work as much. (I was still his chauffeur, though.) In truth, I’d been distancing myself, too, because after that day, it was pretty clear to me what would eventually happen if I didn't. I thought of myself as having decent self-control but I suspected I had a breaking point and that Crane was it.

I wondered how long had I been preoccupied with my thoughts. _Should probably say something..._

"When did you-" we both stopped and laughed because we said the exact same thing at the same time.

"Ladies first."

"Thanks," I said. "So... when did you learn to ride?"

"I cannot recall a time when I was unable, so likely in early childhood. I do remember that my first horse's name was Buttercup. She was a mare, like Sweetie. Heels down, if you please."

I rolled my eyes, but complied.

"Thank you," Crane bowed slightly. "If, as I believe, it is my turn to pose a question, when did you become interested in horses? I wondered because it would seem you had little opportunity for riding."

This was one of those times I was glad Crane missed most pop culture references. Because I was about to say...

"My Little Pony. It was the gateway drug. My dad used to buy the little figures for me." _Probably because Kmart was next door to the liquor store._

"When I went into foster care, I had to leave most of my stuff, but I managed to grab my pillowcase full of little plastic ponies. Still have them, too." _They remind me of home before everything went to hell._

_Yuck. That got more serious than I meant it to._ "Of course.. I was kind of shocked when Sweetie wasn't all pink and sparkly, like the ponies I remembered."

Crane smiled."You are joking."

"I definitely am."

I thought I saw a clearing up ahead and noticed the horses quickened their pace as we approached.

The horses trotted over to what I recognized as a hitching post. Crane dismounted (gracefully, of course) and tied Max to the post.

I guessed that meant I was supposed to dismount, too. _Shit._ I tried to remember how I'd practiced, back at the stable. My hands felt sweaty as I gripped the front of the saddle and slid my right foot out of the stirrup. Then, balancing my left foot in the stirrup, I swung my right leg over Sweetie's rump... and completely misjudged the distance to the ground! My foot slipped from the stirrup and I felt myself starting to fall backward just as Crane grabbed me under my arms.

I was too embarrassed to talk as he helped me to my feet. "Are you alright, Ms. Mills?" I could feel his strong hands pressed to my sides. His breath feathered against my hair as he spoke.

"I'm good," I said, feeling my face burning. "Thanks for saving me from falling on my behind."

He removed his hands and I heard him step back. "Dismounts are tricky, even for practiced riders. Why, I once saw Thomas Jefferson go backside over teakettle dismounting a horse smaller than Sweetie. May I tie her for you? The knot is a bit fiddly."

As Crane tied my horse, I turned around to look at the clearing. If this was Fredericks Hamlet, there sure wasn't much left of it. There were a few depressions in the ground surrounded by the ruins of stone walls that I guessed might have been houses. The largest structure was two intersecting walls of a two-story building whose roof was long gone. (I wondered if it might have burned, judging from the charred areas at the top of the walls.) The whole area was overgrown with vines and seemed abnormally quiet. It kind of creeped me out, honestly.

"Dear God," Crane whispered. "I was here but two years ago. That was the smithy and over there was the Bennetts' home." He pointed at two of the holes in the ground. "Lachlan Fredericks founded this settlement with the intent that it become a place of liberty and scholarship. I cannot believe it has come to this."

I put my hand on his sleeve. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "Maybe they, um, needed to move to a bigger place or closer to a town, to make room for more people? It might not be as bad as it seems."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," he sighed. "You comfort me greatly." He put his hand over mine for a moment then said (overenthusiastically, like he was trying to pretend he was ok,) "Shall we see to the Mason hall? I believe it is the large ruin, on the other side of the clearing."

We picked our way carefully through the vines. It was so eerily quiet, I could hear every twig snap.

I expected the interior of the building to be littered with the usual beer cans and condom wrappers. Instead there was nothing but vines and dead leaves. It seemed like people didn't spend much time hanging out here.

Crane tapped my shoulder. "There it is. Ah. I had forgotten it was upstairs."

I looked where he was pointing. There was a stonework border that ran along what appeared to have been the floor of a room on the building's second story. A charred beam protruded from the bricks, forming a narrow ledge just below the stonework.

The eagle carving was in a stone medallion, about 6 inches across, right in the middle of the border. It was weathered and covered in cobwebs, but it definitely matched the picture on Jenny's phone. The eagle's eye appeared to be made of a piece of red glass that glittered in the late afternoon sunlight.

"Unfortunately, I neglected to bring a ladder, so it seems our journey has been in vain."

_The things I do for this man._ "If you'd boost me up there, I could probably balance on the ledge and get it."

Crane made a face. "Absolutely not. It is much too dangerous."

“No pressure or anything but… Irving wasn’t thrilled about letting me take this much time away from the station. He’s not going to be happy if I have to ask again.”

Crane put his hands on his hips, frowning as he looked up at the narrow ledge.

"You brought a chisel, right?" I put out my hand.

Crane closed his eyes for a moment and I heard him exhale. "A hammer as well." He removed the items from his coat pockets and handed them to me. (I put the chisel in my jacket pocket and hung the hammer from my belt loop, to free my hands.)

"Ahem. Well. Shall we?" He put his locked hands down and I carefully stepped in. I braced one hand on Crane's shoulder as I reached upward. My fingertips didn’t even touch the bottom of the ledge.

"Can you raise me another few inches?"

I heard a groaning sound and I moved a few inches higher, but still not close enough to reach the top of the ledge.

"Is this sufficient?" His voice sounded strained.

"No... still not quite there."

I had an idea, but he wasn't going to like it. "You need to put your hand on my ass - I mean my behind - sorry."

"What!?"

My nails clenched Crane’s shoulder as I felt his hands wobble. "Don't drop me, dammit! You can lift me higher if you put your hand... where I told you."

There was a long pause and I thought he was going to tell me to forget the whole thing. Then I felt his hands shift and, oh my God - there it was. I heard myself let out a small yelp as he boosted me upward. My face felt like it was on fire as I wrapped my arms around the ledge, then clambered up so fast I felt like I was part squirrel.

I peered over the edge at Crane. His cheeks were bright pink above his beard.

"Thanks for the boost."

He nodded. "All well up there?"

"It feels a little wobbly, actually. Can you spot me, in case something falls?"

"Lieutenant... are you sure about this? It seems most unsafe."

"It’s ok. I know how much finding Jeremy means to you. Just... don't let me land on my head, ok?"

Crane sighed, then nodded again.

Carefully, I sat up and removed the chisel and hammer from my pocket and belt loop. I was just about to start chipping at the stone behind the eagle when I heard a twig snap. Crane's eyes locked with mine when we heard the sound again.


	9. Chapter 9

Crane pov  
  
I crept to the end of the wall and peeked around, looking for the source of the footsteps the lieutenant and I had heard. Immediately, I beheld four imp demons creeping between the trees behind the building. They appeared to be heading toward us.  
  
In case I had been spotted, I leaned back behind the wall, waiting for the sound of their footsteps to quicken. When they continued their slow pace, I turned to the lieutenant and held up four fingers, then put my finger to my lips. She moved to the edge of the beam, as though she meant to climb down.  
  
I ran back toward her. "What are you doing?" I whispered.  
  
"Getting your back."  
  
"I must draw the demons away, lest they frighten our horses. Also, it would be best if they were not left alone, in case more hellspawn may be nearby." I also wished the lieutenant to stay concealed for her own protection, but did not tell her this, as I knew she would never agree.  
  
Ms. Mills’ mouth formed a thin line, then she edged backward toward the wall. "Ok," she mouthed, as she gave a brief nod.  
  
Feeling more assured of the lieutenant's safety, I began to formulate a plan of action.  
  
Keeping the ruins between myself and the demons, and moving as quickly and quietly as I could, I made my way to the hitching post. My first impulse was to reach for Ms. Mills’ sidearm, in her saddlebag, but I feared its noise might startle the horses. Instead, I slipped my cavalry saber from its scabbard in the saddle roll where I'd stowed it.  
  
Making an about-face, I dashed for the woods. As I drew away, I began shouting, to attract the hellspawns' attention.  
  
"Over here, ruffians! Frenchified knaves! Contemptuous mongrels!" I barely had time to make the _en garde_ posture before they were upon me.  
  
The first stupidly leaped toward me, its claws extended, in frontal assault. I lunged forward as it fell, my saber dispatching it in a puff of foul-smelling smoke.  
  
The second and third, having flanked me, attempted simultaneous attack from opposite sides. I feinted left, then thrust toward the one on my right, quickly running him through. As I attempted to turn toward the third demon, it clamped its talons into my left shoulder.  
  
Wincing at the sharp pain, I brought my sword arm around, delivering the _coup de grace_ with the long edge of the blade.  
  
As the smoke cleared, the fourth demon and I regarded each other from a few feet away.  
  
"Well then faint-heart," I said, "Will you not give me satisfaction?" I flicked my blade upward in a quick salute, then advanced.  
  
The demon stood motionless for a moment, then spun on its heels and bolted toward the forest. I immediately gave chase, hoping that the lieutenant saw me go, so she would not be concerned for my whereabouts.  
  
***

Abbie pov  
  
By peeking over a crumbled place at the top of the wall, I watched Crane do the _Kill Bill_ thing. I started to climb down, to help him out, but the fight was over before I had time. When Crane hightailed it into the woods, I figured he was after the wuss demon, in case it was going for reinforcements (which is what I would have done.)  
  
I was still pissed that he'd left me to hold down the fort, but had to admit he had a point about leaving Max and Sweetie.  
  
Fortunately, the horses seemed ok at the moment. When Crane was shouting, they had turned toward the sound. Then, after a few minutes, they went back to eating grass.  
  
I checked my phone. No service; big shock. Maybe demons screwed with phone reception somehow?  
  
I wanted to be quiet, in case there were more demons around... but I also wanted to be ready to get the hell out of there as soon as Crane got back. Maybe I could chip the artifact off, while I was waiting, if I did it really quietly?  
  
After seating myself on the ledge again, I got out the hammer and chisel (being super-careful not to drop them.) I gave a light tap at the stone holding the carving to the wall and was happy to see a splinter of rock chip away. It seemed to be some sort of soft stone; maybe this would go quickly.  
  
After every few taps, I stopped and listened for footsteps before continuing. Finally, I put my tools away and, holding the carving in both hands, snapped it away from the wall. As I was slipping the artifact in my coat pocket, I heard a twig crack.  
  
I crouched over, trying to make myself as small as possible as I looked around. _Shit!_ A demon was approaching from the woods on the other side of the trail. It was still pretty far away but, from the way Sweetie’s head and ears went up, I could tell she had already spotted it. (Max was still obliviously chomping grass.)  
  
Sweetie pawed the ground with her front hoof, then whinnied as she pulled at the rope. That seemed to wake up Max and he also started whinnying and pawing the ground.  
  
When Max whinnied, I could see the demon's head turn toward the horses and it started walking faster. _Dammit!_  
  
Realizing I didn't have much time, I dropped my stuff on the ground then clambered over the ledge until I was hanging on by my hands. I looked down... which was a bad idea. _Ugh._  
  
I heard Max whinny again and realized I needed quit messing around. Taking a deep breath, I bent my knees slightly and let go.  
  
I landed on my feet, then fell sideways. I think I also made a sound like, "Oof" but, the demon didn't seem to hear me. As I got to my feet, I wiggled my arms and legs. I felt shaken, but nothing seemed broken.  
  
 _Ok, then._ Grabbing the hammer, I yelled, "Leave them alone, you son of a bitch!" _  
  
_Turning toward me, the demon roared and leaped in that superhuman way they have. _Damn. They looked a lot smaller when Crane was fighting them._  
  
As it landed, the demon reached for me. I struck his nasty, leathery arm as hard as I could with the hammer and heard a crack, like bone breaking.  
  
He screamed and jerked his arm back. Unfortunately, his other arm reached across and grabbed my wrist, squeezing until I dropped the hammer. As the demon looked down, I reflexively brought my knee up as hard as I could. He whimpered and doubled over, pulling me to the ground with him.  
  
Leaning and reaching, I managed to grab the hammer, where it had fallen. I vaguely heard Crane’s voice shouting somewhere nearby, but was too preoccupied to make out what he said. I raised the hammer, aiming carefully for the creature’s head. (I figured I would only get one shot before it recovered enough to carry me off to hell… or whatever they did.) Just as I thrust my arm downward, the demon vanished in a puff of smoke.  
  
Through the smoke, I saw Crane standing there, breathing hard, with his sword held out.  
  
I was kind of pissed before, but now there wasn’t any “kind of”. “What the hell are you doing?!”  
  
He looked surprised, as his arm dropped to his side. “Helping you?”  
  
We stared at each other for a minute, until Max whinnied again.  
  
I followed Crane as he hurried toward the horses, who were stamping their feet restlessly and tossing their heads. Moving slowly, Crane grasped Max’s reins, then moved his hand to the horse’s shoulder, petting him. “Everything is fine now, Max,” he murmured, “There is no need for concern.”  
  
I copied him as I reached for Sweetie’s reins, then moved my hand slowly to stroke her shoulder. “It’s alright Baby Girl. Everything’s OK now,” I said softly.  
  
“Well done,” Crane said quietly.  
  
“Thank you,” I said as I stroked Sweetie’s neck, “but you should know I had that under control back there. I didn’t need ‘rescuing.’” I said the word as scornfully as I could, while keeping my voice low.  
  
Crane stopped petting Max and looked at me. “Is that really what you think?”  
  
“That’s what it seemed like, to me.” I said softly as I continued petting Sweetie. “Stay here and hide until I can come rescue you from the big, bad demons, Abbie.”  
  
“And I suppose you would have stood idly by while I fought one of the hellspawn?” Crane’s voice rose as he spoke. “Forgive me if I find that difficult to believe.”  
  
“No, but-”  
  
Unfortunately, Max had also heard the anger in Crane’s voice. He whinnied sharply and reared onto his hind legs. Tossing his head, he jerked the reins from Crane’s hands.  
  
Sweetie looked at me like, “See who needs rescuing now?”  
  
On impulse, I began to sing softly, the first song that came to mind.  
  
“ _At last  
My love has come along  
My lonely days are over  
And life is like a song._ ” _  
  
_Max immediately stood still and let out a surprised-sounding snort. "Pray continue,” Crane whispered as he grasped the reins again.  
  
“ _The skies above are blue  
My heart was wrapped up in clover  
The night I looked at you._ ” _  
  
_Max and Sweetie both stood quietly with their ears forward as they watched me. Crane reached into his coat pocket and handed me a carrot, then offered one to Max. I continued singing as I held the carrot toward Sweetie, who began munching away. She was such a good girl.  
  
 _“I found a dream, that I could speak to  
A dream that I can call my own  
I found a thrill to press my cheek to  
A thrill that I have never known_.” _  
  
_As I sang the last line, I looked over at Crane. His mouth hung open. When I finished, he blinked a few times and swallowed. I felt self-conscious as I wondered if hated my voice. _At least the horses liked my singing._  
  
“Ahem. Apologies for my outburst,” Crane said softly. "And what a lovely song."  
  
 _Maybe he liked my singing after all._ "That song is almost as old as you. My mom used to sing along with it on the radio." _  
  
_“Did you get your beautiful voice from her?”  
  
Feeling my heart skip a beat, I put my hand on my face, as I looked away. “Thank you. Mom was way better than me, though.”  
  
Crane leaned toward me, catching my wrist. His fingertips felt cool against my arm. I wondered if he could feel my pulse pounding.  
  
“Is your arm injured?” He frowned as he looked at the ripped sleeve of my jacket.  
  
“Oh that,” I sighed. “I think it just tore my sleeve. Figures, since I liked this jacket.” I noticed the rip in the shoulder of his coat. “Did they get you, too?” I said, pointing.  
  
He glanced down at the shredded fabric. "That was courtesy of the third demon."  
  
"Do you feel well enough to ride? I kind of want to get the hell away from here before more of those things show up."  
  
"I am fine... but hadn't we best see to excising the artifact from the wall? That is, if you are also well?"  
  
"I'm good. And I took care of the magical doohickey while you were gone." (I handed him Sweetie’s reins, then walked over and picked up the carving and chisel from where I'd dropped them.) "Right here," I held up the artifact as I walked back, then handed it to Crane.  
  
He turned it over, examining it. "Nicely done, Lieutenant."  
  
"Thanks," I smiled.  
  
Crane and I stood there looking at each other for a minute. I kind of wanted to hug him, but I wasn't sure if we were doing that now. "Guess we should get going before we have more company."  
  
***

Crane pov  
  
"She'll be ok, right?" The lieutenant sighed as she stroked Sweetie's nose.  
  
"Decidedly so," I said. "This is a well-managed stable. She and Max and the other horses appear healthy and content."  
  
"I'll miss you Baby Girl," she whispered, petting the horse's cheek. Sweetie's ears flicked and she snorted softly.  
  
"She likes that," I whispered.  
  
"I could stay here all day." The lieutenant looked up at me. “But we should go, shouldn’t we?”  
  
“It is a bit late. Ms. Gwen and Ms. Patty may wish to leave.”  
  
The lieutenant stroked the horse’s cheek one more time, then turned away.  
  
As we walked to the automobile, I heard the lieutenant sniffling and offered her my handkerchief, which she accepted.  
  
"Sorry I'm being silly," she said. "I bonded with Sweetie just a little."  
  
I’d heard this usage before. "So you... felt an affinity for her?"  
  
"That. Exactly. Also, riding a horse was something I've wanted to do for my whole life and it was even better than I thought it would be. It was... kind of perfect, actually."  
  
"Hmm... does said perfection include fighting hellspawn and jumping off a building?"  
  
"Those are just details," she waved her hand.  
  
"If I may inquire, how did you know horses like music.” I was unaware of this.  
  
“All horses like Etta James. Sheesh. Thought everyone knew that.” She looked at me mischievously, from the corner of her eye.  
  
“You are teasing me.”  
  
“I am. Max actually seems like more of Luther Vandross guy.”  
  
I assumed these names were singers, but there was more to the joke, was there not? I raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Actually… my neighbor’s cat likes to hide. Sometimes, it will come out, if I sing to it. I figured, if singing works on cats, maybe horses would go for it, too.” She chuckled. “I always wonder if Snowball comes closer to hear the song or he’s trying to get me to shut up..”  
  
“Snowball wishes to hear you better. I am certain of it.”  
  
“I might actually believe that if he came out of his hiding place for me as well as he does for a can of stinky tuna… but thanks.”  
  
“If you wish, we could come back to visit Sweetie sometime.” I drummed my fingers on the door of the lieutenant's vehicle, conscious of how my suggestion sounded like a “date”. But… since I had intended it in friendship, I reminded myself it was perfectly fine.  
  
“I would love that.” Her eyes looked soft as she smiled up at me.  
  
Just then, my belly rumbled loudly. I put my hand on my middle. “Forgive me. I seem to be a bit peckish.”  
  
“Now that you remind me, I’m starved too. Got any more of those carrots? Or should I try and find a McDonald’s?”  
  
***

Abbie pov  
  
I took a minute to yawn and stretch after getting out of the car. Crane had started up the steps to the cabin but turned around.  
  
"Are you well, Ms. Mills?" He looked concerned.  
  
"I'm... a tiny bit sore." Never knew 'pain in the ass' could be so literal. "I'll just bandage your shoulder, then get going."  
  
"I have a first aid kit and am perfectly capable-"  
  
 _I’m afraid you’ll put leeches or something on it, if I don’t do it myself._ “It’s OK - it will only take me a minute.” _  
  
_Crane sighed as he walked around the car. "Must you be so stubborn?" He put his good arm around my shoulders. "Will you permit me to assist you up the stairs?"  
  
I thought of protesting, as I knew I was perfectly capable of getting my own ass up the steps. Then I had to close my eyes for a second at the butterflies I felt at Crane's touch. I realized, then, how much I'd missed this closeness with him.  
  
Keeping my touch light, I put my arm around Crane’s waist. "Oh, I suppose, if you're going to be all pushy about it."  
  
******  
  
"The cut doesn’t seem very deep, but can't be too careful with demon injuries."  
  
I took the last piece of tape from Crane’s fingertips and smoothed it carefully over the bandage. I had to pay extra attention to what I was doing because he had taken his shirt off and it was... making it hard to concentrate.  
  
We were standing so close together, I couldn’t help but notice he had the same delicious smell he always did kind of overlaid with horse and saddle leather. It was way less gross than it sounds… actually, it wasn’t gross at all.  
  
Then there was the visual. My eyes traveled over the lean planes of his chest and belly. It would be so easy for my hands to follow. I imagined the warmth of his skin and how the muscles of his chest would jump beneath my touch. I could almost hear his intake of breath at my boldness, almost feel his hands stealing around my waist, drawing me closer to him. The dusting of soft hairs would tickle as my palms swept circles, drifting lazily lower, until-  
  
"Forgive me for belaboring the point, but will you not concede you would also have assisted, had I been the one battling the demon?”  
  
 _Is he still riding my ass about that?_ I snapped out of my daydream, and tried to think of some bullshit. “I would have…” I started, then growled in frustration as my mind went blank. Was there a tactful way to tell him to put his shirt back on, so I could think straight? _  
  
_“FINE, I would have done the same thing!” I started shoving the supplies back in the first aid kit, hoping I could string two coherent thoughts together, if I didn’t look at Crane. “But you have to understand… what it's like to be a woman -- and small, to boot -- in a macho job.”  
  
Stupid tape wouldn’t fit. I dumped everything out of the kit again and started over. “I feel like I constantly have to prove how tough and badass I am. Anytime I feel like I’m being patronized or someone is patting me on my cute little head, it drives me literally crazy.”  
  
There was a long pause as I put the last supplies away. I latched the kit closed as Crane finally put his shirt back on. I told myself it was a coincidence that Crane waited until he was winning the argument before getting dressed because I was so screwed if he ever realized the effect he had on me.  
  
“Dear Ms. Mills,” Crane sighed, “Do you not realize you are more ‘badass’ than I can even aspire to be?”  
  
 _Wait… what?_ “Did you seriously just say ‘badass’?” I couldn’t help but smile. _  
  
_“Unfortunately, I think I may have done,” he returned the smile. “And you must know I am the very last person to whom you need prove yourself.”  
  
I felt my anger evaporate at his sweet words. How is it even possible to stay mad when someone says something like that? “Thanks,” I said, meaning it. "And I’m sorry I went off on you for helping me kick demon butt.”  
  
“There is nothing to forgive.”  
  
“Since you’re being nice, I’ll admit that the sword stuff you did back there was _kind of_ badass.”  
  
“Kind of?” he smirked. I could practically see his ego inflate.  
  
“You just happened to have a sword with you?”  
  
“A saber, actually. I thought it might prove useful,” he shrugged. “I have been looking for an opportunity to keep in practice, since the horseman and I duelled that day in the cell.”  
  
***

Crane pov  
  
The lieutenant turned away as she replaced the medical kit in the cupboard. She yawned and stretched again. I wondered if she felt alert enough to pilot her vehicle. I had fallen asleep on horseback before, and was rudely awakened upon impact with the earth. If one fell asleep whilst driving… I did not like to consider the result.  
  
"Won't you stay for coffee? It will only take a moment to prepare a fresh pot."  
  
She made a face. "I really should go in to the station and work on-"  
  
"I have the biscuits you like."  
  
She looked up at me. "The good kind? With the chocolate things?"  
  
I nodded.  
  
"You're sure it's no trouble?"  
  
"Quite the contrary; it is a privilege and honor to have you as a guest in my de facto home."  
  
We went into the next room where I started the coffee as she examined the artifact I'd left on the table.  
  
"I'll call Jenny tomorrow and let her know we have the all important chunk o' rock so we can move forward with the locator spell." She paused. "I really hope it works, Crane. This has to mean so much to you."  
  
"I confess, I feel excitement, but also trepidation." I got the biscuits from the cupboard. "I am to meet a stranger who is also my son who is also nearly an adult."  
  
"It's a lot to process." The lieutenant nodded.  
  
"Also..." I arranged the biscuits in a sunburst design on the plate. "I desire to atone - to somehow make amends for - the suffering of his early years, even though i realize that can never be truly possible."  
  
"The stuff Jeremy went through... you know that's not your fault, right?"  
  
"A bit, yes," I sighed. "Being dead at the time was an obvious hindrance. Still, I wish so strongly that I could have helped somehow."  
  
I prepared the lieutenant's coffee and carried it to the table along with the tray of biscuits.  
  
"Thanks," she smiled. "About Jeremy - can I offer a suggestion?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Tell him what you just told me. It would have meant the world to me to know that my parents had cared, even if it didn't change a thing."  
  
"Really? Even if... the unpleasantness... still happened?" (I felt sorrow at the implication of her words. Did that mean she'd no idea of whether her parents were concerned for her?)  
  
"Yep. Would love to hear it even today," she looked at the darkness outside the window as she nibbled at a biscuit. "From his journal, it seemed like Jeremy was a teenager when the Four Who Speak as One hexed him, so who knows if he'll listen. But I think you should tell him anyway."  
  
I thought for a moment. "The word refers to the prefix 'teen' in the individual's age; ergo, a person age 13 to 19?"  
  
"Got it in one."  
  
"This word did not exist in my time. People of this age group were regarded as adults, or nearly so." I took a sip of coffee. "Do I understand you correctly that he may be unlikely to listen because of his age?"  
  
The lieutenant chuckled. "You haven't been around kids much, have you?"  
  
"Not really. In my time, caring for children was regarded as women's work."  
  
The lieutenant rolled her eyes. "Promise me you won't teach Jeremy attitudes like that?"  
  
"I will… assay to do so."  
  
The lieutenant rose from the table and took her coffee cup to the sink.   "I should probably get going." She stretched again. "Thanks for the coffee. I feel a tad more awake now."  
  
***

I accompanied the lieutenant outside.  
  
"Might I offer my assistance again?"  
  
She smiled and put her arm out.  
  
I put my arm carefully around her shoulders, holding my breath as I waited for her arm to twine around my waist and her side to press to mine. It felt so good to hold her close again... in friendship, of course.  
  
After we descended the steps, the lieutenant removed her arm, then I drew mine away.  
  
"I do hope you will utilize this evening for relaxation rather than going to the station. Captain Irving will survive another day without you."  
  
"You know... I think you may have talked me into it," she laughed.  
  
"And, since I am already being terribly forward," I swallowed, "a hot bath works literal wonders after a long day in the saddle." I felt my face grow warm as I looked at the ground. "Apologies for my presumption, I realize how brazen it is to speak of such things to a lady." Since she hadn't ridden before, I worried she might not know of this marvelous treatment.  
  
I looked up as I felt her hand on my arm. "It's ok, Crane. I know you're just looking out for me." She smiled. "I secretly like it when you do that."  
  
I greatly desired to embrace her, but forced myself to keep my arms at my sides, After a moment, the lieutenant gave my arm a gentle squeeze, then stepped back and walked around to the other side of her car. "I'll let you know what Jenny says about the spell."  
  
"I would be most grateful." I bowed slightly, then waited in the carriageway as her automobile drove away.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "At Last" was written by Warren, Harry / Gordon, Mack


	10. Chapter 10

Abbie pov

"Sorry, Abs, but we need to turn around again."

I sighed as I began watching for a spot where I could make another u-turn. Why couldn't the magical thingy just tell us our destination rather than pointing us in circles?

As I turned around, I watched as the stone disc rotated where it hovered a fraction of an inch above Jenny's outstretched palm. The eagle's eye glowed softly as it slowly oriented toward the left.

"Should I take the left fork up ahead?"

"Looks like it."

The artifact’s trick seemed a lot cooler this morning, right after Jenny read the locator spell and we first saw the eye glow while it did its Jeremy-compass thing. Now, it just got on my nerves because I'd been driving around all day and had no idea if we were making any progress at all.

We were in rural area on a narrow country lane lined with farmland. Was there some law that all farmhouses had to be white? It definitely didn’t help with their tendency to look alike.

The interior of the car was quiet for awhile as we watched the houses and livestock zip by. The eye pointed straight ahead in the direction of the narrow country road we were traveling. Crane leaned forward to look over my shoulder at the disk. "We appear to be on the right track, at present."

“How many times have we said that today?” I said. “Seems like hundreds.” Then, the eye would point another direction and I would have to turn around -- again -- or find another side road.

“True; however, this is the furthest we have traveled without a change or reversal of direction.”

“Eh… maybe.” I reached one arm into the back seat, rummaging around. “Do we have any more Doritos?”

“I may have, ah, eaten all of them,” his reflection in the rearview mirror looked embarrassed. “Apologies.”

“Since you make fun of my junk food, the least you can do is not eat all of it.”

“It’s great that we’re arguing about Doritos,” Jenny sighed, “but should we start thinking about a plan in case this thing goes South?”

“In what respect, Ms. Jenny?”

“I mean, I haven’t used this spell book before and don’t know anything about the witch it belonged to. Even though it says the spell is to locate people under enchantment, who knows if that’s what it’s really for or if it’s leading us straight to Moloch.” She looked at Crane in the rearview mirror. “It’s not like we can look up online reviews for these spells or check out the witch’s Facebook page.”

I hadn’t thought about that before because I just assumed Jenny knew everything about magical stuff. Hearing her admit she wasn’t sure if this was going to work, or might be leading us into a trap, I felt my excitement that we were headed in the right direction begin to change to fear.

“Have you had that happen before, Jenny?” I said. “I mean, had a magical artifact do something different than what was in the spellbook?”

She gave a short bark of laughter. “Put it this way: there’s a reason no one retires from freelance acquisitions.”

“You mean…?

“Usually we get blown up or disappear before we’re anywhere near ready for a rocking chair.”

I felt my stomach twist at Jenny’s words. Of course, intellectually, I knew what she did was dangerous, but she was still my baby sister. Maybe I could talk Irving into helping me find her a safer job somewhere, like in an office. I looked over at Jenny. She scowled at the artifact like she was daring it to make us change direction again. It was hard to imagine her sitting at a desk all day, but it was worth a shot.

“As to a plan… we have our demon hunting kit,” Crane said.

“Now upgraded with Super-Soakers.” I continued.

“Water guns,” Jenny sighed. “Fantastic.”

I thought about bringing up that they had worked on the wisp demons, but then decided not to, considering how that had turned out.

“Seems like the eye is getting brighter doesn’t it?” Jenny said.

Just as we approached an intersection with a gravel road, the disk rotated slowly toward the right. I turned onto the road that led the direction it was pointing.

***

We followed the road until it ended at… nothing. Just some random woods.

“Might that be a building ahead, in the clearing?” Crane started to open the door.

“Wait,” Jenny said, “I need you guys to cover me. I can’t hold this thing and fire a gun at the same time.”

We decided I’d go first, with Jenny’s AK, then Jenny, and Crane would bring up the rear with my pistol.

The building appeared to have had a gravel driveway at one time, but it was now overgrown with weeds. As we advanced along what was left of the path, I heard a soft humming sound. “Do you hear that?”

“I think it’s coming from the carving,” Jenny said. “It’s starting to get warm, too.”

I looked back at it. The eye was pulsing brighter and faster now, like it was warning us.

The gravel crunched under our feet as we walked. It was hard to see the top of the building through the dense tree branches but it looked like the roof had a steeple. “It’s a church?”

“I believe so, Lieutenant, but not one I recognize. Judging from its condition, it would seem services here are unpopular.”

Just then, I heard a whirring sound and saw branches shaking in a bush by the side of the path. “Stay back!” I clicked the safety off Jenny’s rifle as I walked slowly toward the source of the noise. When I was a few feet from the shrub, a huge, jet-black bird fluttered out and landed on the ground in front of me. I heard the whirring sound again as it ruffled its feathers. It cocked its head to look at us for a moment, with one beady red eye, then leaped off the ground and flew straight toward me! I ducked and the bird continued upward, into the branches overhead, where I lost sight of it.

I crouched on the ground with one hand over my head and the other pointing Jenny’s rifle in the direction I’d last seen the bird.

“You OK there, Abs?”

“Yeah, just creeped out.” I shivered as I slowly got to my feet. It was late afternoon by then and I wanted to be far away from this place before it got dark.

We continued walking in the direction the eye pointed, toward what appeared to be… a hole in the ground. The humming sound from the disk was pretty loud by now. It sort of sounded like a beehive.

“Dammit!” Jenny yelled. I heard a thud as she dropped the disk, then started shaking her hand. The humming sound abruptly stopped.

“Are you OK?” I ran over to her. Her hand felt uncomfortably warm and there was a red spot on her palm that looked like it would blister.

She nodded. “Sorry I couldn’t hold it any longer. It felt like it was burning my hand.”

“Do you need me to go back to the car for the first aid kit?”

“Are you kidding?” she scoffed. “And miss all the fun?”

The three of us stood around the rim of the hole. The bottom of the hole held crumbled planks of wood partly covered with weeds and layers of dead leaves. The hole itself appeared to be several feet deep (it was hard to be sure because of the all the weeds) and kind of an eroded rectangle shape, almost like…

“An empty grave,” Jenny finished for me.

“Perhaps this is what we seek?” Crane stood at the end of the hole with his hands on his hips. He laid the shovel on the ground, then jumped into the hole.

“No!” I yelled, putting out my hand (like I could really lift him.) I guess I’d expected Crane to have fallen into a bottomless pit. Instead, it appeared to be… just a hole. Crane reached over the top of the hole to pick up the shovel, then prodded the ground with it. There was a sharp clicking sound, like metal hitting stone.

“I am alright, Lieutenant," Crane said. "There is solid rock beneath here. It would seem we cannot dig further.”

Jenny and I watched as he shoveled away the vegetation and thin layer of topsoil. There appeared to be some sort of speckled grey stone underneath.

“I guess that spell was a dud,” Jenny said. “Sorry I sent you guys on a wild goose chase for that stupid artifact.”

Crane was crouched down in the hole, moving the weeds and shards of wood aside with his hands. “I believe the spell was effective,” Crane said, “However we are too late. Observe.” He held up a gold chain. It was a few inches long and covered in dirt. There was some sort of charm or trinket at one end.

“It appears to be the fob for my old watch. Jeremy must have had it on his person when the witches buried him.”

Jenny put out her uninjured hand and he laid the gold chain in her palm. I recognized the trinket on the end of the chain as a masonic emblem. “It’s the square and compass,” Jenny said. She turned it over, brushing away the dirt with her thumb to reveal the elaborate calligraphy of a monogram: I.C.

Crane laid the shovel on the ground next to the hole, then clambered out. Jenny and I watched as he stood looking into the pit while he brushed the dirt off his clothes.

_Now what?_ I wondered. I picked up the artifact where it had fallen on the ground. It was still warm to the touch. “The eye isn’t glowing anymore.”

“Yeah, I think it went out when I dropped it. Maybe it’s a one-shot thing.”

“I hope we didn’t screw it up for your buyer.”

“It might still work,” Jenny shrugged. “I’ll have to check it out. Even if it’s dead, there’s plenty of other magic trinkets and other buyers.”

Just then I had a scary thought. “Does the fact that the artifact got hot mean it has something to do with demons? I remember Crane’s watch did that, when we were at the hellhole.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Jenny said. “Magical gizmos do weird stuff like that when they're doing their thing. It didn’t explode, so I'm happy."

Crane picked up the shovel and, after one last look at the hole, started back toward the car. He was walking quickly and I had to half-run to catch up.

I realized, then, he hadn’t said a word since he found the watch chain.

***

Crane pov

The lieutenant and Ms. Jenny stood talking by her front door. The lieutenant examined Ms. Jenny’s burned hand again. She appeared to be speaking and Ms. Jenny nodded at her words.

They both continued talking for a few more minutes then, wearing identical looks of concern, turned to look at me in the car. I glanced away, pretending I had not noticed.

I fiddled with the watch chain as I called up the grave site's appearance from memory. Judging from the many seasons’ worth of decayed vegetation it contained, my son’s grave had been empty for some time.

I realized I had no idea how to find its former occupant or even where to begin to look. Might a spell exist to locate subjects who had once been under enchantment many years ago? This idea seemed farfetched. Also, it presumed the subject of the spell remained alive.

I pinched the bridge of my nose at this most unwelcome thought.

_We might have commenced our search sooner had Katrina told me our son existed or assisted with the spells to find him or-_

_Stop!_ I dug my nails into my palm, willing my thoughts to quiet. _Katrina might not have known what happened to Jeremy... nor would it have mattered even if she had, as Jeremy obviously awakened years ago, whilst I remained interred._

_Had she but told me she was a witch, and of the creatures that pursued her, we might have worked together to set out a plan to care for any future progeny, so that Jeremy need not have suffered. Or perhaps Katrina planned it all this way so she would be rid of me? How could I trust-_

_Cease! No more!_ I punched my fist hard against my thigh, the sharp pain finally forcing me to redirect my thoughts. _Katrina had reasons for acting as she did. Just because none of those reasons had been shared with me did not invalidate them._ I pulled my coat closer around me, though it was not cold.

I looked up just as the sisters embraced and the lieutenant returned to the car.

While she fastened her seat belt and started the automobile, I arranged my features in what I hoped was a neutral expression. As she piloted the vehicle in reverse, to exit Ms. Jenny’s carriageway the lieutenant said, “You OK over there? I think this is the longest I’ve ever heard you go without talking.”

“I am… a bit disappointed, of course.”

“Understandable,” she nodded, “If it’s any consolation, Jenny was just saying how she’ll continue to research this, to see what other spells might help us find him.” She glanced over at me. “We’re _so_ not giving up.”

I felt as if this effort was hopeless but did not wish to be rude. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” I said, “and please extend my thanks to Ms. Jenny as well.”

At that moment, I hated myself for how much I desperately needed them both and how little I had to offer in return. _Under General Washington, I had commanded a regiment. Here, I was dependent on the pity of two women. Two most admirable women. But still._

I wondered, for perhaps the thousandth time, what I was doing here. _I might have actually been some use as a witness when I had currency, a battalion at my back, and the finest general in the Continental Army as my bellwether. Here I was… nothing. Officially, I had long ago ceased to exist._

“Please accept my apologies for wasting your and Ms. Jenny’s time on this fool's errand."

The lieutenant shook her head. “Don’t assume it was a waste. Jenny has a lot of tricks up her sleeve. Give her a chance before you assume it’s not going to work.”

I had to concede the truth of this; one underestimates Ms. Jenny at his own peril. "Still, even if my son and I ever meet,” as seemed increasingly unlikely, “Jeremy will almost certainly despise me.”

Her brow wrinkled. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because I abandoned him. Because I could not to protect him from the abuse he suffered.”

“Again, that stuff was Not. Your. Fault.” She tapped the steering wheel with her fingertip as she said each word. After a pause she said, “On the other hand, worst case scenario: let's say he hates your guts. Still could turn out OK. Jenny and I didn’t talk for years, and I used to think she hated me because what happened to her was my fault.”

“Your judgment of yourself is grossly unfair!” I heard my voice rise, as I spoke. It troubled me to hear her speak of herself this way. “You were in circumstances no child should have had to endure and-”

She put up her hand. “It’s OK. I’m… trying to face it,” her brown eyes glanced over at me. “But thanks for not judging me.”

“Anyway… after all that, Jenny and I still managed to make things up. I don’t know what I’d do without her, now.”

“If I may inquire, how did you and Ms. Jenny reconcile?” I had wondered about this.

“I think it’s because, deep down, we both know what it’s like not to have much family. It makes you treasure the little you have left.” She gave a small smile. “Even if Jeremy blames you for what happened to him while you were six feet under, I’m betting he’ll eventually come around, just like Jenny did with me."

_Assuming we succeeded in discovering his whereabouts, that is._ “I hope you are correct, Lieutenant.”

***

My plans for the evening were comprised of drinking and sulking (both in copious amounts.)

“Would you care for coffee? I should warn you in advance that I fear I am poor company,” I hoped to dissuade the lieutenant from joining me, as I did not want her to see me in such ill-humor.

“I pretty much always want coffee, thanks. Also I don’t want you to drink alone because I know you’re upset.” She gave me a pointed look.

_How did she know?_

My face must have betrayed my surprise because she said, “You’re not the only one who pays attention.”

I walked around to the other side of the automobile, to open the lieutenant’s door, then we went inside. She turned on the television and began perusing the various programming as I stepped to the kitchen. I pulled the bottle of rum from the cabinet and held it up. “Shall we abandon the pretense of having coffee?”

“I’ll drink to that.”

I poured some into coffee mugs and carried them into the parlor, along with the bottle.

“My father would be appalled at the baseness of my tableware,” I said as I handed her the mug bearing the cryptic legend “I (heart) NY”. I put the bottle on the coffee table, then seated myself at the other end of the settee to watch the program she had selected.

On the television, a police vehicle gave chase to another automobile along a busy highway. The police automobile and its prey wove in and out, at what appeared to be an excessive speed, between the many other vehicles on the roadway. It was a bit dizzying to watch.

“Soooo fake!” the lieutenant laughed. “It’s against regulations to have a high-speed chase in heavy traffic like that.”

“It appears exceedingly dangerous.”

“Exactly! There’s too much risk of wrecking and hurting civilians in the other cars.”

The suspect appeared to lose control of his vehicle as it spun in a semicircle, then rolled down the embankment beside the road. The police automobile parked by the side of the highway and a portly officer emerged, then started down the embankment.

“I knew this looked familiar. This is TJ Hooker. I haven’t seen this in years.”

The criminal crouched behind his overturned vehicle, using it as a shield as he opened fire at the officer, who was slowly making his way down the embankment.

“The miscreant seems to be even less competent at firing a gun than he is at piloting a vehicle.” Despite the flurry of bullets, the officer was unwounded.

“This show isn’t the most realistic.” The lieutenant shrugged, then took a sip of rum.

“Would you care for a refill?”

“Hit me.”

I poured another shot into both our mugs.

When the officer (finally) reached the bottom of the embankment, he crouched behind a rock (which seemed a bit silly, considering the fine target he had presented earlier), withdrew his sidearm, and fired a single shot. The scene switched to the criminal, now slumped over the door of his vehicle as a bloodstain spread over his back.

“That officer is either the best shot in history or this presentation strains credulity.” I felt a bit annoyed.

“It’s just how this show is. There’s certain stuff you always know is going to happen, like Hooker - the officer - is never going to be seriously hurt and at least one car is going to blow up in every episode.” She slapped her forehead. “I remember now why I watched this! There used to be a drinking game for this show. Like you were supposed to drink every time Hooker called someone ‘punk’ or he jumped onto the hood of a moving car… and a bunch of other stuff I can’t even remember.” She paused. “Oh, um, a drinking game is when-”

I rolled my eyes. “I am aware what a drinking game is, thank you. We had more of everything drinking-related, actually, as water was regarded as unsafe. This time is much fonder of temperance than mine own was.”

The officer was now making an impassioned speech about the deceased criminal’s numerous misdeeds.

“When the titular character orates at length, as now, does this occasion imbibing?”

“Absolutely.”

Our eyes met over the rims of our mugs as we both took a sip.

***

I was resting my eyes for a moment when I felt something prod my shoulder. I lifted my head from the back of the settee and blinked a few times as the room slowly righted itself.

“TJ just called his partner ‘junior’ again.”

“Ah. Time for libation.” I picked up my mug from the coffee table, realized it was empty, then splashed a bit on the table as I refilled it. Normally, I would have cleaned up the mess immediately but, at the moment, I found I did not care.

“I’m not keeping you awake or anything am I?”

“Perhaps I should not have been so quick to make that speech about my time’s superior tolerance of alcohol.”

“If you just admitted that, I know you must be buzzed,” the lieutenant giggled.

At the sweet sound of her laughter, I could not help but join her. “You may have a point, Lieutenant.”

Our eyes met as our laughter subsided. Ms. Mills put her hand lightly on mine where it rested on the cushion between us. “Crane, I meant what I said about helping you find Jeremy. Since we know what he looks like, from his drawings, we can use the missing persons database at the station. Or maybe Jenny will find another spell that can help us.”

Her palm felt cool against the back of my hand. I turned my hand over, then interlaced my fingers with hers. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” I observed our interlocked hands, where they rested on the cushion, noticing that my hand tingled agreeably where her palm touched mine. “However, I feel I already take up too much of your and Ms. Jenny’s time. Surely, I must be a thorn in your collective sides.

“It’s no bother,” she murmured.

“I thought, if we could find my son," I watched as the pad of my thumb rubbed a circle against the back of her hand. "I would have a family again - as you do with Ms. Jenny -- and no longer be alone in this time." I winced inwardly at my own words, immediately wishing I could take them back. The lieutenant had her own troubles; it was boorish of me to bore her with my rum-fueled self-pity.

“I know it’s not the same thing," she also seemed to have developed a sudden interest in observing our hands. "But... you have me.”

I dared to glance up at her, then. She smiled back at me and her brown eyes had the warm expression I loved. I felt my heart thud against my ribs… because of our bosom friendship, of course. "Do I?" I whispered. _Why was it so difficult to speak these words? Why did I care so much for what her response might be?_

“Of course. Always.” Her brow furrowed, as if she were puzzled. "Don't you know that already?"

"I would never presume," I turned to face her as I brought her hand upward. "But it is a pleasure to hear it." I bowed my head over her hand as I touched my lips lightly against it.

I looked up at her as I raised my head again. Instead of withdrawing her hand, her fingers clasped mine.

As if by some signal, we edged closer, to bridge the space separating us on the settee. Tentatively, I put my arms around the lieutenant as she followed suit. She made a soft humming sound.

It felt _wonderful_ to hold her, she felt so warm and so soft. One of my hands rested against her back as the other stroked the smooth fall of her hair. I could feel her breath feather against my jaw for a moment as she lay her head against my shoulder.

Then, I felt the familiar guilt begin. "This is wrong," it whispered. "Unfaithful." Normally, this reproach was enough to force me to redirect my attentions, but the rum I'd consumed, combined with the sensations that overwhelmed me at having the lieutenant so near, easily overrode it.

My hand slid upward to cradle the back of her head, I reflexively closed my eyes as I breathed the lush fragrance of her hair. Very softly, I kissed her forehead, then turned my head to press my cheek against its smoothness. I knew I should let her go, should move away, but felt powerless to do so. Through my shirt, I could feel the warmth of her hands rubbing circles on my back.

"Abbie?" I whispered. My hand trembled as I put my fingertips lightly against her cheek. As she looked up, her eyes fluttered open to meet mine. Her lips were slightly parted and I could see her bosom rise and fall with each breath.

"Abbie... I..." I whispered, struggling to form a coherent sentence, feeling helpless against something in the depths of her beautiful eyes that beckoned me closer.

Her nails scratched lightly at my lower back and I shivered.

"What of your vows to your wife?" The odious voice at the back of my mind squeaked. Fortunately, I had an idea how to quiet it.

I angled my face toward Ms. Mills' then touched my closed lips to hers. It was the lightest possible touch and for the briefest of moments, over almost as soon as it began. Hardly worthy of the word "kiss" really. And it was like touching lightning... or as if we had become one of the circuits Ms. Sharon had told me of. I felt as if I my cells were vibrating against each other as a pulse of heat ran up my spine.

As if by the same signal, again, we drew away. Ms. Mills' eyes were very wide. I imagined my own expression looked equally surprised.

She lay her palm against my cheek and her brows drew together as her gaze met mine. I started to angle my face toward hers again but something in her eyes stopped me. After a moment, she looked away and sighed. She lay her head against my shoulder and I could feel the muscles of her back tense beneath my hands.

Suddenly, she drew a deep, shuddering breath and I felt her arms abruptly withdraw. I missed them immediately.

She made a soft "ahem" sound and I remembered myself then, finally, and removed my hands.

She looked up at me then, not quite meeting my eyes. "Hooker is on the hood of a moving car again.”

_What?_

I must have looked puzzled because she inclined her head toward the television.

Oh. The television was still on. I felt as if my thoughts were swimming through treacle.

How was it possible we discussed this ridiculous television program when my skin still burned from her touch and all I could think of was her lips on mine.

“The, um, game we were playing earlier. We’re supposed to drink when he does that.” Her eyes pleaded with me: play along. I could never refuse that look.

"Ah. Of course. Now I recall.”

I picked up our cups from the coffee table and offered the I (heart) NY mug to the lieutenant. She emptied it in one swallow (coughing a bit, afterward) then held it toward me. I refilled it from the bottle on the table.

"Thank you." The lieutenant gave me a small smile, then turned toward the television as she moved backward on the settee... but did not retake her former place in the opposite corner. I stayed where I was seated.

My mind whirled as it replayed the softness of her lips, the lightning impact of her kiss on me... followed by its anticlimactic aftermath. I ventured a quick glance at Ms. Mills, who appeared to be engrossed in fidgeted with her coffee mug. Was it possible the kiss did not affect her as it did me?

As I observed her, she looked over at me and our eyes met. She gave a quick smile, then redirected her gaze to the television and took another long swallow from her mug.

I remembered, then, that the lieutenant sometimes was emotionally reserved. (I recalled her non-reaction when we had discovered the heads used as lanterns.)

Perhaps the kiss had overwhelmed her, as it had me, so she pretended nothing had happened? Or perhaps she reacted as she did because, for her, it was a kiss of friendship only?

On television the portly officer still clung to the hood of the moving vehicle like a barnacle. _Why does he not fall off?_ I wondered. _Could nothing in this time make sense?_ I drained the contents of my mug and reached again for the bottle.

***

Abbie pov

I forced myself to wake up enough to turn off the tv. The TJ Hooker marathon had ended and an infomercial for cooking pans was on. The lady in the infomercial acted like the pans were the most miraculous thing she had ever seen. It was a pleasure to press the OFF button.

We were half-sitting, half-lying on the sofa. I unwound Crane's arm from my shoulder and stood up so I could go sleep in the chair. He made a pissed-off sound and clasped my hand. _How did he do that with his eyes closed._

"Do come back," he said throatily, sounding as if he were still mostly asleep. Then he opened one eye. "Please?"

"You sure you want to do that?"

One corner of his mouth curved upward then he scooted to the end of the sofa (so his long legs could fit) then held out his arm to me.

This is such a bad idea. Still... I hadn't let myself kiss him back - really kiss him - like I wanted to. Surely that was enough willpower for one day?

I lay down on the outside edge of the sofa cushion, where I felt like I was about to fall off, facing away from Crane to help with the temptation to kiss him again. I knew Crane would die of shame if we made out when he was drunk. He would call it ‘forcing his attentions’ on me or some ridiculous thing like that, which was about as far from the truth as you could get.

To try and keep things from being all weird and tense between us, I was planning to pretend our friendly peck never happened. Since Crane was all about the friendship with me, I figured he'd be only too willing to go along with it.

I lay there stiffly, feeling uncomfortable as I made sure no part of us accidentally touched. Crane's breathing sounded like he was awake, too.

I was just about to get up and sleep in the chair after all when I felt his hand slip around my waist, pulling me backward. I tensed for a second, then thought, "what the hell."

Our bodies molded together perfectly as he spooned me. He felt warm and, since he was so much taller, kind of enveloping. I could feel his chest rise and fall against my back.

"Alright?" he whispered. I shivered as I felt his breath against the shell of my ear.

_Way, way more than alright, actually._ "Yeah, um... Ok." I nodded.

I felt his arm relax around me and he exhaled, like he was relieved. _Did he really think I was going to say 'no'?_ I reminded myself how disappointed he must be feeling about Jeremy. _He'd had a rough few days, hadn't he?_

I wrapped my arm over his arm at my waist, gently clasping his hand. His hand returned the gentle squeeze and he sighed, then kissed my hair.

We lay like that a few minutes as I listened to his breathing relax, when I finally remembered what I meant to ask him. "Crane... do birds have red eyes?"

He made a sound like, "hmfff" followed by a soft snore. I considered elbowing him in the ribs but decided I could wait until tomorrow for an answer.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, you want persuasion now?" She leaned closer, her lips barely brushing mine. As our lips touched, I felt desire pulse through me, settling in my loins.
> 
> I put one hand on her cheek, angling her face toward me. "Yes. Pray demonstrate your powers of persuasion."

Chapter Text

Crane pov

The lieutenant was surprisingly strong as she flipped me onto my back. Her knees bracketed my hips as she braced her hands on my shoulders, holding me firmly down against the bed.

"Say that again." She grinned.

"Ah. Are you referring to my previous query as to whether you would require me to rescue you from additional demons?"

"That was the one. Do you take it back?" A lock of her hair fell over one eye as she leaned over me. I reached up, to push it behind her ear, then settled my hands on the curve of her hips.

"Hmm... I do not retract my statement... but perhaps I could be persuaded to do so." I raised one eyebrow as I moved my hands lower, mere inches from her splendid backside.

"Oh, you want persuasion now?" She leaned closer, her lips barely brushing mine. As our lips touched, I felt desire pulse through me, settling in my loins.

I put one hand on her cheek, angling her face toward me. "Yes. Pray demonstrate your powers of persuasion."

She brought her lips down on mine as I arched upward to meet her. She kissed me hungrily, her tongue delving into my mouth as her hands were everywhere, stroking my hair, my face, her fingertips feather-light against my chest (conveniently, I did not seem to be wearing a shirt), once, thrillingly, drifting lower, toward my trousers.

"Are you persuaded yet?" She rolled her hips against me, then leaned over again to kiss me deeply.

I could not help but moan as - finally - I moved my hands lower to caress her backside. I splayed my fingers, massaging gently as my hips echoed her movement, my now-hardened member grinding against her sex.

The lieutenant gasped and threw her head back. As she did so, she bared her throat enticingly. I eagerly kissed downward along the tendon, pausing to suck gently, until the lieutenant moaned. "Now who is being persuaded?" I whispered, my lips against the shell of her ear. I could feel her tremble in my arms as I suckled her earlobe.

She sat up again and moved her hands to the hem of her blouse. She gave me a coquettish smile then, with one swift motion, pulled the blouse over her head. Beneath, she wore the satiny black undergarment I remembered from the Mohawk ritual. Seeing the expanse of her smooth skin and and the swell of her décolletage, my hips reflexively twitched against her again. She returned the movement at exactly the same moment.

If we found a rhythm this easily, I could not help but wonder what pleasure awaited if events proceeded as I dearly hoped they would.

"You are everything I have ever wanted, you know." I stroked my fingertips gently along her cheekbone. Her eyes had a soft expression that made me feel warm and cared for in a manner I had not felt for an exceedingly long time... perhaps ever.

"Back at you," she leaned over to kiss me softly. When she sat up again, she had a mischievous expression. "Well, except for the coat. I think you know how tired I am of that damn thing."

I rolled my eyes just a little, but mostly for show as I was much too happy to be truly annoyed. "Speaking of finery, I believe I have seen this garment before, have I not?" I traced one fingertip along the strap of the black undergarment that cupped her perfect breasts. "Pray tell, what is its appellation?"

"If you really want to know..." She looked up at me then, appearing as if she could barely contain her laughter. "...you'll have to ask me yourself."

The scene vanished and I awoke with a jolt.

***

It appeared to be late morning. The light was grey and overcast and I could hear the patter of raindrops outside.

The lieutenant and I lay like spoons on the settee, with my arm around her. I could feel her ribs rise and fall with her slow breaths. She also snored softly when she inhaled.

I loved waking with her in my arms and marveled at how perfectly our bodies fit together, except... she lay with her backside against my manhood and, dear God, I was as hard as my cavalry saber.

I knew I must remove myself to a respectful distance, but feared the least motion might awaken the lieutenant and she would see my present state. Moving as little as possible, so as not to disturb Ms. Mills, I attempted to edge backward into the cushions of the settee. She emitted a small sound of protest as she wrapped her arm over mine and nestled closer, pushing her backside against my rigid member. She made a soft humming sound and her hips moved slightly. The sensation of having her so near me _there_ was sweet agony.

I attempted retreat once more, only to have her tighten her arm where it overlaid mine. Now trapped, I felt a bizarre combination of desire and panic. _Perhaps if I redirected my attentions?_ In my mind, I conjugated Latin verbs and recalled the sequence of steps to disassemble and oil a musket. But all was to no avail; my thoughts stubbornly returned to the dream I had just awakened from: the beauty of her figure and smooth, brown skin, the warmth in her eyes when they met mine, her eagerness in our lovemaking and... I needed to desist from this line of thinking as it was causing the problem to worsen... rapidly.

As a last resort, I forced myself to think of the person I'd studiously kept from my thoughts for months: my wife.

She was an insoluble problem. How could I trust her again after she had deceived me about... seemingly everything of importance, really... for our entire courtship and marriage? Had she loved me, as I had her, or merely professed it make me compliant? Did I know her at all?

But she had also borne my child. As such, I felt a sense of... "obligation" was as good a word as any, I supposed.

Was that to be the foundation of our marriage? Obligation? Certainly, I had heard of marriages built on less, but still it rankled as I had thought ours was a love match. Stupid of me, apparently. The whole matter was so disheartening, it was no wonder I tried to keep it from my thoughts.

After last night's incendiary kiss, where did the lieutenant's and my "friendship" fit into all this? I was not oblivious to the irony that I had just awakened from an erotic dream in which my "friend" played a starring role. Not to mention that her magnificent backside currently pressed against my stiffened manhood. _Why was I thinking of this again? Damnation!_

"Crane?" The lieutenant murmured as she stirred against me. _Dear God, she was waking up._

As gently as I could, I disentangled my arm from Ms. Mills', then heaved myself off the settee. I hated to leave her so rudely, but was uncertain what else to do, in my desperation. Without a backward glance, I all but ran out the door and bolted for the woodpile.

***

Abbie pov

The first thing I noticed was that my head ached and the inside of my mouth tasted like I had eaten one of Jenny's moldy old spellbooks. The second thing I noticed was that Crane was gone. Then, I heard a "thunk" sound from outside.

Very slowly, so as not to jostle my aching head, I got up from the sofa and walked to the window. I heard another thump and watched as Crane's axe split a log, the two halves flying apart from the force of the blow. Without a pause, he picked up the next log and stood it on its end on the chopping block.

It was raining lightly and his shirt clung to the muscles of his back and shoulders as he raised his arms over his head to swing the axe again. I wondered why he was chopping wood in the rain, particularly when the stack of kindling he'd already cut was almost as tall as me. My head throbbed at the next thump of the axe. Maybe chopping firewood was some kind of eighteenth century hangover cure? If so, I should go out and give it a try because, damn, my head.

Then I had a nasty shock: Crane hadn't made coffee. I was pissed for a minute, then reminded myself Crane wasn't my own, personal barista. (But he could be; boy made a damn fine cup of coffee.) He probably thought I knew how to brew my own, with the woodstove and percolator, like he did. _Yeah, that was going to happen. So... time for a Starbucks run._

I started to go outside to tell Crane where I was going then came to a dead stop, with my hand on the doorknob. Might things be weird between us, because of last night? I was afraid Crane would be embarrassed that he'd gotten drunk and kissed me. He shouldn't be, of course; it was just a friendly peck that meant nothing.

_Well, it meant nothing to him._ But I felt warm again just thinking about it.

On second thought, I should probably just wait and see him when I picked him up for work Monday morning. That would give some time for the weirdness to blow over.

I grabbed my purse, then stopped at the door again. Should I tell him I was leaving? I didn't want him to worry, but I also did NOT want to talk with him right now and wasn't sure if he was proficient enough at texting yet to retrieve a message. I'd just write a quick note.

I walked to the table and opened the drawer where he kept his stationery. My hand found a folded sheet of paper.

***

Crane pov

Usually, chopping kindling helped me clarify my thinking. But still, my mind churned with questions about the nature of my partnership with the lieutenant.

I felt my stomach twist as I realized that I what I contemplated was adultery and would make the lieutenant my mistress. I respected Ms. Mills deeply and thinking of her in these sordid terms sickened me. I also knew that, were I to suggest this sort of liaison, she would slap me senseless.

Most terrifying of all, such an offensive suggestion by myself would irrevocably destroy our friendship, the one thing that made this time bearable.

I set the axe down for a moment to wipe my brow with my shirtsleeve, then set another log on the chopping block.

As I would not, for worlds, dishonor Ms. Mills nor risk the loss of her friendship, I supposed that meant the nature of my duty was clear: my status with the lieutenant must remain quo until circumstances changed regarding my marriage (as I grudgingly conceded might never happen).

All of which assumed Ms. Mills even desired me. I remembered how eager she was to distance herself from me after our brief kiss last night. So perhaps my concerns were moot.

I took a deep breath as I set the axe down. This certainly was not the conclusion I desired, but it felt like an honest one and I'd had my fill of deceit and half-truths. (I heard the lieutenant's voice in my head saying a half-truth was a whole lie.)

As I began stacking kindling into the already sizable pile, I chided myself that I would need to work harder, to be constantly on my guard to ensure my conduct with the lieutenant was, at all times, proper and appropriate. To fulfill a more immediate need, I should also prepare coffee. (I realized I had run out without providing any. This was a serious oversight as the lieutenant’s mood deteriorated rapidly when too much time elapsed without her most favorite beverage.)

As I strode back to the house, I felt a sense of efficacy mixed with trepidation. I was reasonably certain I could control my actions around the lieutenant, but was less a sure about containing my heart.

The lieutenant jumped as I opened the door. She was standing by the table with a sheet of folded paper in her hands. Her face looked as if she’d had a shock.

“Ms. Mills… are you well?”

She swallowed. “I… was looking for some paper to leave you a note," Her fingers trembled as she unfolded the paper and placed it on the table. "I- I didn’t mean to go through the drawer."

As I glanced down at the paper, I recognized my own writing then, with horror, the words on the page. _Merciful God, no_. It was the letter I had written her weeks ago. Apparently I had forgotten to burn it.

I could feel my hands twitching furiously at my sides, but otherwise seemed to be frozen. My mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

“Anyway... I'm really sorry for accidentally looking at your stuff." She looked up from the table and met my gaze for a moment. I felt my stomach twist at the pain I saw in her eyes.

"There is nothing to forgive," I whispered. "I trust you, Abbie."

She put up a hand as she redirected her gaze to the table, biting her lip as she did so."I should probably…” she motioned vaguely toward the door.

“Ms. Mills, please permit me to explain…” How would I go about that? I had not the faintest notion.

She waved her hand. “I’m the one who should be explaining for going through your papers.” She stopped when she reached the door. “Also, um..." She swallowed; her fingers worried the strap of her handbag. "Jenny called while you were outside. She thinks the undo spell can be used to release Katrina from purgatory.”


	12. Chapter 12

Abbie pov

I was totally fine with that letter.

Really, I was perfectly OK.

It was so obvious Crane was just goofing around, when he wrote it. Before video games and the Internet, people probably wrote fake letters to each other all the time.

I was so totally fine with it that I forgot about stopping at Starbucks, then drove past my exit on the way home. I was so perfectly OK that, when I got back to my house, I left my sausage biscuit in the cardboard box and it caught fire in the microwave. I noticed it quickly, thank goodness, but not before it set off the smoke alarm.

After I finally got the alarm turned off and the smoke cleared out, I fell onto the sofa and popped open a Red Bull. In my head, the words from Crane's note replayed in the throaty voice he had when he first woke up. _Yet it is like dying again to see another courting you when there is nothing I would not give to be the one to seek your heart._

What was he talking about? I wasn't 'courting' anybody. Or was that part of the joke?

My phone rang. Jenny. _Thank God!_ I needed a distraction.

“Hey.”

“Everything alright? You sounded strange earlier."

“I’m OK. Just hungover.”

“Actually, you still sound strange. You and Crane tie one one?”

“Pretty much. He was upset about Jeremy. About not finding him, I mean.”

“Not surprising.” After a pause she continued, “I just wanted to ask you one more time... you're OK with the ‘let’s rescue Katrina’ thing, right?"

My mouth went dry. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” I could hear how brittle my voice sounded.

There was a long pause. “Are you _sure_ you’re OK Abs? Is something wrong.”

I laughed, the fakest sound ever. “I promise I’m fine, Jenny. How many times are we going to go over that?”

“Going to take you at your word then." I wanted so badly to tell her about last night ... but where to even begin?

"I’ll start getting the stuff together for the undo spell and let you know when everything’s ready.”

“Great Jenny. Thanks.”

“In that case, signing off…”

I couldn’t take it anymore. “Jenny… wait. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

***

Jenny pov

_Please, oh please, let's not talk about our warm, fuzzy feelings._ I thought as hard as I could, willing my mind to communicate with Abbie's. So, naturally, she started right in with, "Do you think Crane might be interested in me as more than a work partner."

I almost spit coffee on the windshield. Was she freaking serious? The little green dudes on Pluto could see how obvious that man was when he looked at her.

"Hmm. Good question." _Was that diplomatic enough?_ "What makes you think so?" _Great. Now I sound like a head shrinker. "What makes you think there are monsters in the forest, Jenny?"_

"It's probably nothing but I found this letter he wrote me. He wrote that he was infatuated with me and stuff like that."

"Infatuated!"

"I know, right? Why say something normal when you can bust out an SAT word? Anyway... he was probably just playing, don't you think? Maybe letters like that were how people in Crane’s time used to prank each other?"

"You mean like, 'Ben Franklin, I love you. Your powdered wig turns me on'?"

"Ew!" she laughed, finally sounding more like herself. "But we know they were freaky back then because they invented bundling."

"Good point."

"Anyway, it wasn't 'roses are red.' It was more stuff he noticed, like apparently I tap my coffee spoon."

"You mean how you go tap-tap-tap mmmm..." I made the humming sound like I was enjoying something other than coffee.

"Gah! Am I really that obvious?"

"Yep. But we love you anyway."

"Oh! And he wrote my name in a poem. There was some other stuff too, but you get the idea."

"Sounds like quite a letter. Also sounds like a lot of trouble just for a joke." _If someone writes you a love letter, what do you think it means, Abbie? You know the answer as well as I do. But you don't want to acknowledge it, which means that I can't either._ "You said you found the letter... not that he gave it to you?"

"Yeah, I was looking for some paper to leave him a note to say I was leaving. I was really hungover and didn't feel like talking."

"OK, that makes it easy. I think you should ask him what he meant. He didn't give you the note himself, so who the hell knows what he was thinking? Since you found it when you were going through his stuff, it might be kind of nice if you gave him a chance to explain, anyway."

"I wasn't 'going through his stuff,' Jenny! It was in the drawer of the table in the main room. Who leaves private stuff somewhere like that?"

"Apparently, Crane does."

"Or he meant for me to find it... because it's a joke."

I rubbed my eyes. Suddenly, I felt really tired and wondered why I was in this bullshit argument. "That's my advice, sis. Take it or leave it. Anyway... I kind of need to go - I'm almost at the airstrip."

"The airstrip? What? Do you mean the airport?"

_Yeah, because they would welcome me with open arms at security, there._ "It's a charter. Got to see about a freelance acquisition." I didn't want Abbie to feel bad but I had kind of been counting on the sale of the Emblem of St. John to pay off some bills. Now that the wonder twins needed it again, to find Crane's wife, I'd been scrambling for leads on magical doodads.

"Do you have time to round up the stuff for the spell to get Katrina out of purgatory? I understand if you need to wait until you get back."

"I'll multitask."

"Oh... OK." She sounded so lost it almost made me want talk about our feeeelings some more. Almost.

***

Abbie pov

Shit. Why had I acted so bitchy on the phone with Jenny? (Well, actually, I knew why: when she said that about me going through Crane's stuff, I got defensive... because it was sort of true.) I wished I had listened, instead of going off on her, because I trusted her opinion.

Unfortunately, her idea to talk with Crane about The Letter was a hard no. Way too awkward!

I thought back to the other thing Jenny had said. Writing a whole letter - with a poem and everything - really was a lot of trouble just for a prank. Also, it didn’t seem like Crane's sense of humor.

_What if... just say, purely for the sake of argument…_ I took another swig of Red Bull, still waiting for the caffeine to kick in. _What if he'd meant what he said in the letter?_

I say there with my mouth open for a second as I realized I had no idea how I felt about this.

I immediately thought about all the details he’d put in the letter. I doubted anyone I’d dated (not that Crane and I were dating, obviously) had bothered to learn all that stuff about me. But then I already knew he paid attention from how _perfectly_ he made my coffee.

Speaking of observing, it hadn’t escaped me that Crane is not exactly hideous. His eyes are so blue and he has the most beautiful hands I've ever seen on a man. They almost don't look real - more like a Greek statue come to life. Once or twice, I may have thought about his hands on my body - seeing them on my skin, whether the calluses on his palms would be scratchy, how his touch would feel.

Of course, from here it was a short step to thinking about our kiss.

When people said they kissed someone and they saw fireworks or stars or crap like that, I always thought they were just repeating something they read in a romance novel. When I kissed someone, I saw the inside of my own eyelids. Until last night.

When Crane's lips touched mine, well, it took my breath away. If any other guy's kiss had made me feel the way that stupid peck from Crane had, that man would be in my bed now (and there was no telling when I'd let him out of there) because I'd never felt anything like that in my _life_. I'd wanted to curl my fingers into the folds of his shirt, to pull him close, even as I forced myself to push him away.

But it was over in a second. (A _very_ enjoyable, borderline life-altering second, but still.) And I'd had a bit to drink. I couldn't have felt all that from something that was over so quickly... could I? (The evil part of my brain promptly countered that Crane wasn't the first guy I'd kissed when I was drunk and there was never _anything_ like that before.)

I took another gulp of Red Bull, feeling my brain start to come back to life.

OK so he was a good kisser. Maybe. Unless that was just the rum’s opinion.

The rest of him wasn't too bad either. I enjoyed his company most of the time (when he wasn't being annoying). And he could be really sweet. If I let my guard down, I could... well... I could fall in love with him.

At this thought, the room suddenly seemed to get smaller and like the air was too thick to breathe. . _..which would make it hurt a million times worse when he went back to his wife. Or did some asinine noble thing and got himself killed._

My fingernails dug into the sofa cushions as I felt the memories bear down on me. _Please, God, no._

I was in the kitchen of our old apartment, after Dad left. I could hear Jenny and Mom talking in the living room. (It must have been during a commercial because Mom didn't like for us to talk during her shows.)

I heard Jenny saying she was hungry and asking when Dad would be back. Mom said Dad had gotten a job as an airline pilot in Santa Barbara and we would all be moving out there soon. (Sometimes, he was an actor in Hollywood or had invented something. The reasons seemed to change with the plot lines on the shows she watched.) She had gotten so much worse, now that Dad was gone.

There was a long pause and I heard Jenny say again that she was "realllly hungry."

I stared into the pantry at one brick of ramen noodles and a box of cereal that was somehow going to become dinner for three people.

The scene changed and I was in a corridor at the hospital, watching four big guys struggle to carry Jenny away from me down the endless hallway, screaming all the swear words a little kid knew (which wasn't very many.) "Let me go!" She yelled. "Tell them, Abbie! Tell the truth!" As I heard the anger and terror in her voice, my heart felt like it was ripping out of my chest. Right then, I made up my mind: I would tell what really happened. I no longer cared what kind of trouble I got in, as long as Jenny and I were together.

"Jenny, wait-" I started to run after them. Then felt myself jerked backward as a hand clamped down on my upper arm. I looked up at my foster mother. Her lips were pressed tightly together and her brows drawn down. "Don't even think it," she hissed. "I ain't got time for this mess."

I looked at my arm where her hand was clenched. There were little dimples in my skin where her fingers pressed in. I stood there, smelling the disinfectant and cafeteria grease, as Jenny's voice grew softer until I couldn't hear her at all.

I was so desperate that I looked up at the woman, hoping for... I wasn't sure what. Sympathy? That was probably too much to expect but maybe mild concern? She appeared to be absorbed in rummaging in her purse, with her free hand, until she withdrew a box of Virginia Slims. She tugged my arm in the opposite direction that they'd taken Jenny. "Come on. I need me a cigarette.”

The scene changed again and I saw Corbin's headless body lying in the farmyard. I fumbled for my radio to call for backup. He couldn't be gone; I needed him. There was so much we'd never gotten to talk about.

My hand shook as I set the Red Bull on the coffee table. I took a few deep breaths as I forced myself to calm down and wait for my heart to stop pounding.

That was what happened when I loved people. They left and it hurt like hell.

I drew another deep breath, let it out slowly.

Crane's letter was _obviously_ a prank. Writing joke letters was what people did in their spare time, back in the day. It was so silly of me to think it meant anything.

I picked up my phone to check the time and saw four voicemails Crane had left me, the first apparently before I was out of his driveway. Guess he had figured out how to use his phone after all.

Should I call and let him know I was OK? He could rant about tollbooths or supersize sodas or whatever his latest obsession was and I wouldn't even mind.

My thumb was poised over the button to call him back when I froze. _No_. I wanted to hear his voice way too much right then. I needed to wait until I had my guard up to talk with him. I set the phone carefully on the coffee table, then rubbed my palms on my pant legs, wiping off the sweat.

The phone seemed to stare back at me as I listened to the hum of the refrigerator, the ticking clock in the kitchen, Snowball yowling somewhere outside.

I had to get out of there and get my mind on something else..  and the sooner the better. Might as well go in to the station and catch up on reports; get a jump on things for Monday.

I was totally fine with that letter.

Really, I was perfectly OK.


	13. Chapter 13

Abbie pov

I sat there for a few seconds, staring at the contact for Ichabod Crane. _Might as well get it over with._

As the phone rang, I scrunched my eyes shut so I couldn't press the hang-up button before Crane answered.

He picked up on the second ring. "Ms. Mills. What a pleasure. I have-" He sounded out of breath. "Ahem. That is to say, good afternoon, Lieutenant." He also sounded guarded.

"Hey, Crane. Um... I talked with Jenny again. She sent me a list of stuff that we need for the spell to rescue Katrina."

"Ah. We are making haste, then.

I didn't know what to make of that, so decided to ignore it.

"I'll start getting together the stuff we need. Hopefully, we can be ready to give it a shot next weekend."

"May I offer my assistance in obtaining these supplies?"

"Well, there is one thing. Jenny's away on a mission now so I need you to read the spell, since you know Middle English... unless you'd rather wait until Jenny gets back?"

There was a long pause.

"By all means, let us proceed directly. I am honored to read the spell or assist in any way I may be of service."

Was I imagining or did he sound even politer than usual? I decided to ignore that, too.

"OK then." The silence stretched awkwardly as I waited to see if Crane would say anything (which he didn't.)

"I guess I'll see you Monday. I'll let you know when I have the stuff ready for the spell."

"Very well. Thank you Lieutenant." I heard him take a deep breath. "And Lieutenant?"

I felt myself tense. "Y-yes?"

"You need not fear I will mention again those sentiments that are distasteful to you. I would not, for worlds, cause you discomfort. Please be assured my conduct toward you will be at all times honorable and appropriate."

He had said all this so quickly that it took my brain a minute to process. I guessed he was worried I hadn't gotten the joke and figured I should put his mind at ease, so he wouldn't feel embarrassed. "It's OK, Crane. I know you were just joking with that letter."

"You found it funny?" Did he sound... surprised? Maybe I wasn't being clear.

"Yeah, I almost fell for it, too. Good job."

“Ah.” There was a long pause. Too long. "I am so pleased the missive entertained you. How you must have laughed at its ridiculously outmoded phraseology. Were you also amused by the woefully antiquated sentiments it expressed?"

He spoke fast and his accent seemed more clipped than usual. Oh yeah, and he sounded pissed. I wasn't sure how to respond. "No, it was a good letter. I wasn't laughing at it, just the prank was funny.”

"Did Sergeant Baker also appreciate the humor?"

Was he jealous of Jeff?  Was that what this was about?  “Of course not. Why would I bring it up with him? That would be weird."

"Weird." He said the word like I would say "festering sore" or "decaf." "Is that how you and the sergeant described the letter? Was it not sufficiently 'cool' for your liking?"

Why was he still rambling about Jeff? For that matter, where the hell did he get off interrogating me about who I went out with, especially since he seemed to think his own personal life was off limits for discussion. I felt my usual tight control start to slip.

“If there’s anything else you’d like to know about my dates with Jeff, please ask away. I'll give details and everything. After that we can talk about how you didn't know Katrina was a witch when you were freaking married to her. When she was hanging out with her coven, did you think she was at the A&P?"

I heard Crane gasp.

I had been holding that in for a _long_ time and, for about one second, it felt so good to let it out. The second after that, guilt and disbelief hit as I clapped my hand over my mouth. _Oh God, did I actually say that?_

“Thank you for your _kind_ offer, but I have no further inquiries regarding your courtship with Sergeant Baker.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Crane, I am so sorry. I don't know what came over me. You know-"

He interrupted me (which he never does.) “If I may trust that I have provided sufficient levity for one day, I beg to take my leave.”

"Crane, wait. Let me explain. I-"

“Good day, Lieutenant.”

***

It was hard as hell but I didn't call Crane back that night, to force myself to take time to think about what I wanted to say.

The next morning, I drove to his house, as usual, to pick him up for work. He wasn't outside, when I pulled up to the cabin, and I wondered if he was too pissed off to even ride in the car with me. After a moment, he stepped outside, then turned to lock the door.

When he got in the car, I switched off the ignition and turned to face him. "Crane, I feel terrible about what I said. I don't even have a good excuse. My temper just got away from me."

He continued looking out the front window, at the mist rising from the lake. In profile, I could see his nostrils flare as his lips pressed together. "It is I who should apologize for my intrusive questioning."

Ugh. He was going to be gracious about this. Like I didn't already feel guilty enough.

"My behavior was egregious and entirely inappropriate." He looked at me then and I could see how red and bloodshot his eyes were.

I felt awful. Poor Crane. He needed someone to take care of him; maybe it was good Katrina was coming back. (I refused to acknowledge the tightness in my chest, at this thought.)

"Thanks, but I definitely should apologize for the awful things I said. I was totally rude and out of line and... I'm really sorry." I took a deep breath. "I'm happy for you that Katrina will be out of purgatory soon."

For a moment, his eyes met and held my gaze in one of his trademark penetrating stares. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I am exceedingly grateful for your support." He put his hand over mine, where it rested on the seat, then grimaced and quickly drew it back. "Apologies," he whispered, then faced toward the front window again.

I hesitated for a second, then put my hand on his shoulder and kneaded gently. (I couldn't stop myself; he had looked so upset.) His muscles jumped beneath my touch as his eyes closed and he inclined his head slightly toward my hand.

I wanted to put my arms around him, but forced myself to remove my hand. As I drew away, Crane raised his other arm, moving his hand toward mine, then stopped midair. His hand clenched as he lowered his arm.

He opened his eyes then and looked at me. I felt butterflies as I saw the soft expression his eyes held. "You said that you almost believed the letter?"

"Sure did." I nodded. _Wanted to believe it. So. Damn. Much_. "You almost had me going, there."

"Oh, Abbie," he sighed. "Forgive me." He shook his head. "I forget my manners." He swallowed, then bowed his head slightly as he rubbed his forehead with the fingertips of one hand.

I waited for a minute, to see if he would say anything else - hoping and fearing what he might say. I could see his chest rise and fall with his breaths.

"Duty calls, I suppose," he said, so softly I could barely hear.

"That it does." I turned the key in the ignition. "Better not keep Irving waiting."

***

We both stared at the stone eagle, as Crane said the last words of the locator spell. The artifact lay there like a chunk of rock.

"Maybe it takes a minute?"

"As I recall, its effect was immediate when Ms. Jenny spoke the incantation. Perhaps I should attempt the spell without the protective glove?"

I nodded as he handed me the oven mitt, knowing he would have to prove how badass he was by holding the stupid thing until it burned his hand off.

When Crane read the spell again, the disk came to life, rising a fraction of an inch above his palm, then slowly orienting toward the right. He looked at me like, “See? I told you.”

“Shall we proceed?”

_No point in putting it off, I guess._ "Yep. Let's go find Katrina."

***

"Perhaps the artifact malfunctions? I had anticipated it would direct us to Katrina’s gravesite, but the church is back there.” With his free hand, Crane gestured behind us.

"Jenny thought that, since Katrina isn't physically here - on earth or this dimension or whatever you want to call it -- the locator spell will probably take us to the place where she entered purgatory.”

"That is to say, the place where the Four Who Speak as One performed the spell, then. In that case, perhaps our target location can be anywhere, even in this desolate place."

We were driving through an industrial area by the river where factories were. Well, where they used to be. They were all boarded up now.

I jerked the wheel to avoid a huge pothole. As the car lurched sideways, I saw the artifact wobble in the air where it hovered above Crane's hand.

"Careful, there!"

"You may rely upon it that I am capable of holding a rock, Lieutenant."

I watched as the disk steadied itself. The eye still pointed in the direction of the road we were on.

“Well, technically, you’re not holding it. It’s holding itself up and you’re sort of assisting it.”

“Noted. Thank you for the dissection of semantics.”

I swerved again for a smaller pothole.

"This road is nearly as decrepit as those in my time."

"Since all the factories closed, this place isn't exactly a top priority for the road crews." No wonder: there was almost no traffic here. It had been miles since we saw another car.

***

As we approached the driveway for the old power plant, the disk rotated sharply to the right. I made a right turn into the driveway (which was fenced off) and looked around. The shades were down in the guard shack and no one greeted us when we pulled into the drive. _Considering all the "Danger" and "Warning" signs, shouldn't there be someone standing guard?_

"I'll just check out the lock on the gate." I had to talk kind of loud to be heard over the humming sound the artifact was making. "Is that thing burning your hand yet?"

"It is a bit warm." Crane leaned forward, peering at the fence. "It appears to be unlocked."

"What?!" I looked closer. He was right. I could see the open lock dangling from the end of the chain that held the two halves of the gate together.

"Allow me." He started to get out.

"No, you sit tight. We don't want the magical doodad to fall." I got out of the car quickly, before he could argue with me.

The hinges were kind of stiff and made a loud squealing sound as I pushed the gate open. I stood there for a minute, expecting someone to come running out if the cinder block factory at the end of the driveway and ask me what the hell I thought I was doing. But nothing happened.

I looked back at Crane in the car. I could see the red glow of the artifact's eye from way over here. We must be getting close.

***

The parking lot in front of the building was cracked and overgrown with weeds. I could feel myself blushing as I saw the graffiti - and pictures - spray painted on the walls. I hoped Crane wouldn't notice it. _More likely, he wouldn't understand it. I don't think people did stuff like that back then._

I parked in the space right by the door. It still had a rusted sign that said “Reserved For Chairman”. _Probably the only time in my life I'll ever get the fancy parking spot._

As I got out of the car, I noticed a huge black bird - way larger than a crow - standing in front of the building's door. It cocked its head to look at me and I noticed its eyes were red.

I remembered, then, that I had meant to ask Crane if birds had red eyes when I was distracted by a "thud" sound as Crane clambered out of the car.

_Oh shit!_ Crane stared open-mouthed at the disk where it lay on the cracked blacktop.

"Do you drop it?"

"I did not," he looked over me. "I swear it. It seemed to leap from my hand."

"What happened?" I knelt to pick up the artifact, then dropped it immediately, shaking my hand.

"What the hell, Crane? Why didn't you tell me this thing was burning hot?"

"Are you alright, Ms. Mills? Forgive my not forewarning you. I hope you were not injured."

Of course he would be concerned about me first. "I'm OK. Let me see your hand."

I hissed when I saw his palm. "This is going to blister and generally hurt like hell. Why didn't you tell me?"

"The pain was scarcely noticeable. And it worked, did it not? For here we are."

"It's great that you felt a need to show off how badass you are, but had you given any thought to whether you're going to need the use of that hand today?"

"I am right-handed." He held up his other hand, showing me his unblemished palm.

I rolled my eyes. "I'll bandage it for you, before we go in. Thanks so much for making more work for me because I definitely didn't have enough to do."

I found the first aid kit under the front seat and set to work. Possibly, I wasn't as gentle as I should have been, because Crane winced as I was dabbing the burn with the alcohol pad. “Oh, now it hurts, but it felt dandy when that thing was burning your hand.”

He glanced over at the wound on his hand, grimacing as he saw it. _Next time, don't be such a macho jackass._

Once I finished with the tape, I put the kit away, and looked around. The paint on the factory's walls was peeling and the windows were boarded over. "This has to be the place - it's too creepy not to be. But it's huge." How would we find the spot where the Four Who Speak As One cast their spell that sent Katrina to purgatory?

"I brought the spellbook. Perhaps we could see if the artifact can be reanimated?"

"And burn the hell out of your other hand so I have to do everything myself? I don't think so."

He made a huffing sound. "Have you a better idea?"

"Well, we could start there." I nodded toward the front doors. "Looks like the door's open." A heavy chain with an open padlock dangled from one of the door handles.

Crane glanced at the door. "Ah. So it is. The caretakers of this place seem to be lacking in diligence, do they not?"

"Maybe." _Or maybe they're expecting us._

***

Crane pov

The lieutenant opened the trunk of her car and retrieved torches and another sidearm (which she handed to me.) I thanked her as I tucked it into the waist of my trousers, then patted my coat pocket, making sure the book containing the undo spell was still there.

The lieutenant removed her phone from her pocket. "Let me check something." Her thumbs moved rapidly over the device, then she made a face. "Knew it." She held it up so I could see the display.

"No Service. The last time I saw that was when the wisp demon was nearby, at the swamp.”

"Yep. It also happened when the imp demons were approaching at the Fredericks Hamlet ruins. I think it means nasties are nearby.”

"Lovely."

"Fortunately, it doesn't affect Angry Birds, so you can still play your favorite game, in case we get bored in there." She had a mischievous smile (which I returned), so I knew she was teasing.

"In that case, I hope I shall have ample opportunity to surpass your 'high score' this day."

The door creaked and the chain rattled as I opened it. The inside was dim, illuminated only by sunlight peeking through the boarded-over windows.  I could barely make out a long hallway, extending into darkness. There was also a pronounced musty odor.

I noticed, then, the lieutenant had ducked under my arm and stood beside me as we both peered into the gloom.

She glanced up at me. "Looks like our kind of place." Her nose wrinkled. "Smells like it too."

I pressed the button that illuminated the torch (marvelous invention, that) and gestured toward the dank hallway before us. "Shall we?"

***

Abbie pov

A few rats and one truly huge spider were about the scariest things we saw as we continued following the hallway until it stopped at a dead end. Other hallways branched left and right. A sign on the wall pointed left for firebox or right for executive offices.

Crane shone his flashlight down the identical dark corridors.

"Any ideas?"

"Offices are usually over a shop, hence upstairs, which would not have been present in my time, as this building did not yet exist."

"OK, firebox it is, then." I started down the hall.

"Wait." Crane held up his hand. "Have you a pen or any sort of writing instrument? I should like to leave a marker, to assist in navigating our return journey."

"Good thinking." I rummaged in my pockets but the only thing I found was some lipstick. (Naturally, it was the expensive kind.)

"This is all I have." I handed it over. "Kind of don't waste it, OK? That little thing cost $20."

The tube looked tiny in Crane's massive hand. "Twenty dollars for this... peculiar writing implement?! I could have purchased a passing fine team of horses for that sum."

"Yeah, well, it was totally worth it. It's really hard to find lipstick that's not too pink."

He walked over to the wall and seemed to be trying to write with the closed tube. "I fear you have wasted your money, Lieutenant. This 'lipstick' is clearly defective. Observe." He dragged the closed tube against the wall.

"One small detail..." I took the tube out if his hand and opened it, twisted the end. "Voila." I held up my hand, showing him the exposed crayon.

"Ah. But still, twenty dollars for such a small thing?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I know it's spendy but..." I applied a quick coat to my lips and smiled at Crane, batting my eyelashes just a little as I handed him the tube.

I heard him draw in a breath. "It is very becoming," he muttered as he turned toward the wall and sketched a quick arrow, pointing the way out, with my $20, hard-to-find, not-too-pink lipstick.

We followed the firebox hallway, which led to yet another hallway, then another. Each time, we made our best guess as to which choice would lead someplace that might have existed in Crane's time.

It was quiet as we walked along. The only sounds were our own footsteps and occasionally a soft, receding noise of something scurrying away as we approached. It smelled like mold, of course, but as we went along, I started to notice another l smell I recognized from too many crime scenes.

"Do you-" I looked at Crane.

He nodded. "Death. Its stench is unmistakable."

"Hopefully, it's just a rat." But I knew the smell was way too strong.

"One may hope." The beam of Crane's flashlight swept the dark hallway. He didn't sound like he believed it any more than I did.

As we continued our deductions / wild guesses to find the part of the power plant that existed in Crane's time, the smell of death seemed to grow stronger as we went along.

Finally, after I'd lost track of how many turns we'd made, we came to another hallway that was different.

"Crane... look," I whispered. The beam of my flashlight found a shadowy figure at the end of the corridor. As the light touched it, the figure spun around to face us.

_Oh God... it can't be!_


	14. Chapter 14

Abbie pov

"Andy? Is that you?

Even in the dim light, he looked terrible. His eyes were dull and sunken and his dark hair was matted and seemed to have fallen out in patches.

"Abbie!” He jumped as he saw me. “What the hell are you doing here?”

_Oh shit… what to say? Didn’t want to tell him too much._ “We’re, um, investigating a report of demon activity around here. Have you seen anything?”

“Please,” he made a scoffing sound. “We both know this is where the locator spell for Crane’s wife directs to. But why are _you_ here? I thought it would just be him." He gestured toward Crane.

Crane's brow furrowed. "Officer Brooks, I-"

"Don't even start." Andy turned toward Crane, pointing a finger at him accusingly. "What the hell is your problem? Can't you manage to find your own wife without Abbie to hold your hand?"

Crane's eyes blazed as he took a step toward Andy. "How silly of me to have permitted my search for Katrina to drag on when I could have expedited it by selling my soul to Moloch. _Clearly_ , that is the proper way to accomplish one's heart's desires." He looked down his nose at Andy when he said the last part. I could see Andy's fists clench.

_Ugh, no. Not a fight. Andy probably wanted that so he could show off his demonic super-strength or whatever. That wasn't what he would respond to, what might get him on our side._ Andy's back was to me now so I looked at Crane and mouthed, "No."

Crane’s brows drew together.

"No," I mouthed, more emphatically this time, also shaking my head.

Crane took a deep breath and let it out with a "huff" sound.  He didn't look like he was too happy with me, at the moment.

I put my hand on Andy's arm. His sleeve felt as if it were caked with dirt. The dead body smell was much stronger, now that I was standing close to him. "It's not like that, Andy. I _want_ to help him out."

Andy jerked his arm away and continued speaking to Crane. "That's cute how you have Abbie fooled, that you're not just using her and Jenny to help you get your wife back. But I'm not buying that crap."

I stepped quickly into the narrowing space between Crane and Andy.

"Crane never asked for Jenny's and my help, Andy. Never. I offered because he's my friend."

"He makes you think that, doesn't he?" Andy sighed. "Plays on your sympathies and kind heart so you think it's your idea."

"Thank you for being concerned for me, Andy," I said, more sternly this time, "But I know my own mind and I'm not that easy to manipulate."

"I wish I could agree with you." He shook his head. "You're helping him but who's helping you?"

"Help me? How? What do you mean?"

He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead with the heel of one hand. "Shit. I'm not even supposed to be talking about this. I've already said way too much."

I couldn't help but smile just a little at that. "I'm pretty sure you're in the clear there, because I promise I have no clue what you're talking about."

"You should leave. Now." His eyes pleaded with me.

"Like I said, Crane is my friend. I won’t leave him." The decay smell was starting to make me feel sick, but I forced myself to keep my voice calm.

Gently, I placed my hand on Andy’s upper arm, rubbed gently through his sleeve. His arm felt cold and damp through the fabric. As I moved my hand away, I could see a dark stain spread, where my hand had touched. "Is there anything I can do to help?" Now that I was standing right in front of him, I could see the flesh around the wound on Andy's neck was blackened and... something seemed to be moving, there. _Nope, definitely didn’t see that._ I swallowed and locked my eyes on Andy's face.

"I just wish-" his breath caught and he grimaced as he put out his arms very slightly, just a few inches, toward me.

As gently as I could, I put my arms around him. Beneath his hoodie, his skin had a bloated, squishy feeling (sort of like a frog) that I was trying desperately not to think about.

I looked over at Crane. "Alright?" he mouthed. I noticed he had one hand on the butt of the handgun that was tucked into the waist of his pants.

"Ok," I mouthed.

I felt Andy's back convulse and his hands tightened on my back for a moment. Unfortunately, I picked just that moment to look at the wound on his neck, which was right at my eye level, and saw what I had glimpsed before. They appeared to be some sort of bugs... or maybe worms. _Oh, God! Don't look, don't look._

Between the visual and the smell, a sour taste flooded my mouth and I felt my stomach start to heave. I must have looked panicked because Crane took a step toward us.

Just then - thank God - I felt Andy's arms release and he moved back.

He wiped his eyes quickly. "Sorry." He gave a forced-sounding laugh. "This whole selling my soul thing hasn't worked out the way I meant it to. When I think about it, it's kind of depressing sometimes."

Now that he had moved away, my stomach seemed to be under control again. I took a deep breath, to try and calm down. "It's ok, Andy." I let my face show the sympathy I truly felt as I struggled to think of something to say that would make him feel better. "We all make mistakes."

He laughed again, more genuine-sounding this time. "Yeah, but this was a pretty big one."

We stood looking at each other for a minute and I felt a glimmer of the warmth I remembered from when we were friends, when he was alive.

"It's ok. We'll get through this. And I meant what I said about wanting to help."

"Yeah, um... about that." He grimaced as he scratched his head. "Unfortunately, I kind of have to take care of something and it and it might make you want to take that offer back."

"It's ok. I'm sure I'll understand."

"Actually I um... need to tell Moloch you two are here. He's been expecting you."

"What?!" I said as Crane drew the handgun and aimed it at Andy... who glanced at him, did a double-take, then started laughing.

I looked at Crane... and realized what I had forgotten to tell him. I motioned, with my hands, to try and direct him, but his eyes were glued to Andy.

Andy started to say something, but then went back to laughing. I watched as Crane's expression cycled from angry to annoyed to embarrassed. I motioned with my hand again, but he still wouldn't look at me.

Finally, Andy seemed to have calmed down. "Safety's still on dude. You want to um..." he gestured, showing how to deactivate the mechanism.

Crane's face turned pink as he mimicked Andy (a little awkwardly, because of his bandaged hand.) Finally, I heard the metal click into place. "Ahem. Thank you."

"It's ok. But now what are you going to do? Kill me? You're a little late for that."

***

Crane pov

The Lieutenant shrugged. Feeling more than a bit silly, I lowered the gun.

"If you'll let me finish," Brooks looked back and forth between the lieutenant and myself, "I was going to say that you'll have plenty of time to rescue Crane's wife."

Brooks looked pointedly at the lieutenant as he said the last. Her expression was unreadable.

"I always have to go through the whole chain of command before I can talk to Moloch. Makes me feel _so_ important." Brooks rolled his eyes. "Plus, I'll act like it's nothing urgent. Trust me; you'll have _more_ than enough time."

Ms. Mills put her head to one side. "But why do you have to tell him at all?"

Brooks' shoulders sagged and he regarded the lieutenant with what could only be described as naked despair. "I don't have any choice. He owns my soul, remember. Also, I was kind of hoping to get back in his good graces by delivering Crane to him. But I thought it would just be Crane coming here and I won't turn you in, Abbie."  He glanced at me. “No offense.” I nodded slightly, a fraction of an inch, perhaps. How could the lieutenant continue to feel empathy for this monster, in light of the evil he had done?

"You won't get in trouble, will you?" the lieutenant said.

"It'll be ok. I'm still the only necromancer he's got, so he can't get rid of me... at least not yet."

"How did you know we would be here?"

"I'm ordered to say that 'a little bird told me' you were coming." He grimaced, shaking his head. "I think he's trying for a villain monologue thing. I'm sorry; I know it’s so freaking corny."

Brooks ran a hand through his hair, then continued. "Once you struck out at your son’s grave, he figured you would try for your wife next. I'm not even sure how long I've been here waiting - the days and nights kind of run together in the dark. You probably noticed how easy it was to get into this place? I did all that." As he said the last, he stood up straighter and puffed out his chest. It was vile to see.

The lieutenant's brow furrowed. "Are the guards ok?"

Brooks sighed, appearing to deflate. "Let's pretend you didn't ask that."

"Speaking of orders, might your master have prevented you from divulging the location where my wife entered purgatory?"

"You got it, Einstein." Andy said. "He disabled locator spells at the boundary of the property, so you wouldn't be able to find it."

"Are you allowed to tell us anything about where to do the spell?" The lieutenant said, "Please?"

Brooks rubbed his chin. "Nope. Not a thing. In particular, you shouldn't bother with the firebox because there's nothing to interest you there."

Brooks and the lieutenant appeared to exchange a look and she mouthed, "Thank you."

"It's ok," Brooks said. "Anyway, I should probably..." He motioned toward the door.

The lieutenant's expression grew solemn. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help, ok? Remember, this soul situation might not be permanent."

"The lieutenant is correct," I said, "If Moloch is vanquished, perhaps your soul may be returned to you."

" _When_ Moloch is vanquished." The lieutenant smiled.

" _When_ he is vanquished." I nodded, wondering if she truly felt that way or desired to seem confident for Brooks' benefit.

"You guys go right on believing that if it makes you feel better," Brooks said. “Anyway, if they give my soul back what happens then? I die for real?” He chuckled. “No thanks.”

We followed Brooks out into the hall to the point where the corridors split.

“Goodbye, Abbie,” Brooks took a breath, looked at me. “I’m sorry, man, I have to say this.” I took a deep breath, anticipating another speech about what a turncoat I was.

He turned toward Abbie. “Seriously, you need to ask yourself what’s in this for you and Jenny. Crane’s getting his wife back. How about you?” What are you getting out of it?”

I was pleased to see a scowl come over the lieutenant’s fine features. “What I’m 'getting out of this' is the chance to do the right thing and help a friend.” She pointed her finger at Brooks and opened her mouth, closed it again, shook her head. “Do you think I would let Crane go off alone to the creepy, deserted factory while I was… I don’t know… having a pedicure or whatever? We’re _friends_ , Andy, we look out for each other. It has nothing to do with 'getting something out of it.' Is that really how you think? Like you're keeping score in your head all the time?"

Brooks slowly shook his head. “Sorry, but I’m sticking to my story. You’re looking out for him, but who’s looking out for you?”

“I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree then,” the lieutenant said.

Brooks nodded, then turned to me. “You are the luckiest idiot alive and you don’t even know it. If Abbie had ever acted with me like she does with you… well, I wouldn’t have needed to sell my soul because I already would have had everything I wanted in the world."

My heart hammered in my breast. What did he mean about the way Ms. Mills acted with me? I met Brook’s gaze for a moment, but saw only anger in his furrowed brow. I desperately wished to ask what he meant, but would have sooner died than give him the satisfaction. I glanced at the lieutenant, but she was biting her lip and staring at the floor.

“Goodbye Abbie,” Brooks said, in a softer tone. She nodded, not looking up from the floor.

Brooks looked at me, shook his head again, then started down the hall. I was pleased to see he was walking slowly, as if he had meant what he said about tarrying when he relayed our whereabouts to his master.

I waited until he turned to the corner, then whispered, “Are you alright?” _What did Officer Brooks mean about the way you act when we are together? You did not give credence to his prattle about my exploiting your and Ms. Jenny's generous natures… did you?_

“I’m OK, thanks.” She looked up at me. “Sorry he acted like such a jerk. He's not really the guy I used to be friends with anymore."

“It is of no consequence.” I waved my hand. “Besides, I have been called worse.”

“Sounds like an interesting story.” The corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly. “Care to share?”

“I should be delighted… but shall we conclude our current adventure first?”

“I suppose,” she sighed. “Which way to the firebox.”

***

Abbie pov

I figured the firebox would have something to do with fire but, when we got there, it was just a big, empty room. There were no windows so, except for our flashlights, it was pitch dark. "Can you read the undo spell anyplace in here, or does it have to be a particular spot?" I swept the beam of my flashlight over the cracks in the concrete floor. There were bolt holes and rust stains where, I assumed, equipment had once stood, when the power plant was active.

"Lieutenant," Crane yelled from the other side of the room. "Do come here. I believe I have found something.”

As I approached, I could see Crane was standing in the middle of a series of concentric circles created by rust stains on the floor. He smiled and spread out his arms. “Here it is: our target.”

I chuckled. “Nice try. But isn’t it a little coincidental?”

“What are we two but an improbable series of coincidences?”

“Hmm…” I didn’t really have an answer for that. I also didn’t have a better idea. “If this doesn’t work, will you help me get the stuff back together, so we can try again someplace that has a big, flashing ‘Look for Katrina here’ arrow?”

“I accede to your offer.” Crane bowed slightly.

“Give me a few minutes to get everything ready. Have you got the book with the undo spell?”

Crane withdrew it from his pocket and began paging through it.

I rummaged in my pocket for the bag of herbs and stuff Jenny had told me to get. (She also gave me the name of a guy at the botanical garden, who helped me find it all.) It looked exactly like the world’s largest dime bag.

I unzipped the plastic bag and held it up to Crane. “Smell this. It smells incredible.”

He leaned forward and inhaled carefully once, then closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “Mmm. That is marvelous. It smells like an alpine meadow or morning in early spring.”

“I kind of thought it smelled like mint chewing gum, but let’s roll with yours.” I started sprinkling the plant clippings on the floor, roughly in the same outline as the smallest circle in which we were standing.

“If I may ask, what does that mélange comprise?”

“All kinds of stuff: sage, holy basil, pennyroyal, a pinch of salt. There’s a whole bunch more (and I'd never heard of most of them.) Jenny said to sprinkle it in a circle around us, before we started the spell.” Something occurred to me then and I stopped sprinkling and looked at Crane. “How does this spell work, anyhow? Do you just read the thing and - poof - Katrina appears?” I felt something twist in my stomach as I said this and I went back to sprinkling, so I wouldn’t have to look at him, right then.

“That is my understanding, in essence - although I cannot attest to the 'poof'." He stopped paging through the book. "Likely it has no bearing but I feel I should mention...the appearance of this spell is a bit different. May I show you?”

“Um.. sure.” I walked over to where he held the spellbook in one hand and his flashlight in the other, illuminating it. “Observe.” Halfway through the curlicue writing, there was an old-timey illustration of clouds with puffed out cheeks, like they were blowing. The writing resumed again below the illustration.

“Is that supposed to be wind?”

“I would presume so.”

“What does that mean?”

“I confess I have no idea, as there is no mention of wind in the spell. Perhaps it is just an illustration.”

_Well, that was encouraging._ I remembered what Jenny said about how witches liked to mess with people sometimes. “Um… maybe this spell actually summons a tornado?”

Crane looked at me for a moment. His lips were pressed together in a thin line. After a moment, he snapped the spellbook closed. “You are correct Ms. Mills, it is much too dangerous. I shall assist you in gathering up the plants you have strewn, then return another day, alone.”

“What?!” I stood there for a moment with my mouth hanging open. Then I got it. “You were paying attention to that crap Andy was spouting, weren’t you? About how you were ‘using’ me and Jenny.”

“Perhaps,” he said, so low I could barely hear.

“Well forget about it; it’s stupid. Look at it this way; if Jenny were in purgatory, and I needed to get her out, would you be OK with my going someplace like this alone,” I gestured around the dark room, “particularly now that we know Moloch would be waiting for us?”

“Certainly not. I should protest vociferously and at length.”

“There you go.” _Why was I the one arguing that we should go get his wife right now?  Was it because of that stuff I told Andy about wanting to do the right thing? Or because I could never resist an opportunity to make myself miserable? No! Dammit! I wasn’t miserable. I was happy for Crane and Katrina to be reunited. Happy. Freaking jubilant._

Crane wouldn't look at me, so I gently put my hand in his. "Maybe the reason there are two witnesses is because one person can't do it all alone."

His eyes slowly met mine. "Brooks is correct, though, in his statement that this enterprise is dangerous and there is no gain in it for you."

"You let me worry about that, ok? Besides, I'm a cop. I'm not exactly a stranger to doing dangerous stuff to help people... and at least you appreciate me sometimes instead of shooting at me or yelling insults, like most people."

"I do appreciate you." He squeezed my hand. "A great deal."

Our eyes locked for a moment, then Crane sighed and Iooked away.

"Ok then." I let go of his hand. "Now we've got that settled, maybe we should get started."

Crane made an “ahem” sound and started to read. He held the book in one hand and the flashlight in the other. His voice was normal but most of the words sounded totally foreign. (It was hard to believe English used to sound like that.) Occasionally, he would look around the room and continue talking, so I figured he had the spell memorized. (That eidetic memory thing must be handy. I could have used that in school.) I also scanned my flashlight around the room, looking for tornadoes or demons or… who even knew?

I first noticed a soft brushing sound by my feet. When I looked down, I noticed the leaves I’d strewn were blowing in a circle around us. I poked Crane and aimed my flashlight at the moving leaves. Without a break in the flow of his speech, he slipped the spellbook and flashlight into his pocket, then put his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him and away from the whirlwind by our feet.

For a second, I wasn’t sure what to do with my hands. Finally, I slipped one arm around his back. I wasn’t sure if he noticed. His eyes were closed, as he spoke, and there was a tiny line between his eyebrows, like he was concentrating.

I took another peek at the floor. The whirlwind definitely seemed higher. It was close to my knees now. I took another baby step closer to Crane and tightened my arm just a little around his back.

He got to a part of the spell where the words had a harsh, guttural sound and that really seemed to bring the whirlwind to life. As he spoke, I watched it rise from my knees, to my hips, then to my shoulders. It was louder now, a howl, and the leaves made a tearing sound, like tree branches thrashing during a storm. As it rose, it also seemed to be contracting and getting closer to us. My hair was flying around and I could feel the leaves scratching against my clothes. I _really_ hoped the witch who wrote this spell wasn’t just messing with us.

As Crane kept talking, the wind continued to increase and I started to feel it pulling me backward, like it was trying to move me outside the circle and away from Crane. I moved my feet apart and bent my knees, trying to tried to brace my heels on the concrete floor, but could feel myself sliding. I put my flashlight in my pocket, then wrapped my other arm around Crane, clasping my hands behind him. He immediately wrapped his arms around my back, pulling me against him as I pressed my cheek to his chest.

Without my flashlight, it was pitch black (at least I think it was - I had my eyes closed). Crane was talking much louder, almost shouting, I guess to be heard over the whirlwind, which had now risen over my head. It seemed much stronger now, almost like an undertow pulling us apart. My arms and legs trembled from holding on to Crane so tightly and trying to brace against the smooth floor.

All at once, my hands gave way and my feet slipped out from under me. I shrieked as Crane’s arms tightened on my back, pulling me flush against him. I wrapped my arms around him again and, in desperation, twined one of my legs around his, to try and anchor myself to him better. I could feel the muscles of his thigh taut against mine, like he was also having to work to keep his feet planted. I could no longer hear him speaking over the noise of the wind. The flying leaves tore against the exposed skin of my hands, where they were anchored behind Crane’s back. I was just about to yell at him to quit reading when, suddenly, the noise stopped.

It was perfectly silent. Did I smell… candle wax?

Slowly, opened my eyes. We were in what appeared to be a church; it looked familiar. A woman with red hair knelt in front of a row of candles. Her head was bowed and she appeared to be praying.

I took a step back, peeling myself off Crane. My boot made a crunching sound as I stepped on a leaf. The woman startled, then stood up quickly and turned toward us.

“Katrina,” Crane said.

 


	15. Chapter 15

Abbie pov

“Crane?” I felt around for his arm. “Where are we?” Actually, I could sort of answer that for myself: we appeared to be in a church… where Katrina was watching us. I dropped Crane’s arm and took a step away from him.

“Ichabod? And Ms. Mills?"

"Hello, Katrina." _Where the hell are we? And why do you seem like you aren’t surprised to see us?_

Katrina turned toward me and did this kind of bow and dip action that my brain finally realized was a curtsy. To me. I felt flattered and embarrassed and think I may have bowed in response.

"Thank you for your kindness to Ichabod. We are both forever in your debt."

"I'm happy to help out." I shrugged. "Anything for a fellow witness." I knew I sounded like she was thanking me for cat-sitting, but I was preoccupied with trying to figure out was going on and where we were.  

"Ichabod." She held her arms out and he slowly walked over to her. I wondered if I should leave the room or anything (assuming that was even possible), but they stopped with a hug and kiss on the cheek. _Not exactly what I was expecting. Maybe people back then were more reserved?_

"I assume we are in Purgatory?"

“Yes. I have been expecting you.”

_Well, that got my attention._ “Excuse me?” I walked over to where they were standing.

I glanced up at Crane. He looked as confused as I felt. “We were of the impression we were delivering you from this place.  Seemingly, the reverse has occurred.”

"Your original impression is correct,” Katrina told him. "For that is how the undo spell takes effect. It transports the caster of the spell to the location of the subject under enchantment. When the remainder of the spell is pronounced, the magic is unbound, its subject released and the spell caster remains behind in the original subject’s place."

_Oh. Hell. No. "_ Can you maybe say that part again?" _If I ever catch up with the witch who wrote that piece of shit undo spell, I’m going to kick some magical ass._

"Do I understand that the lieutenant and I are to remain here in Purgatory?"  I could hear an imminent freakout in Crane's voice.

"That is to say, that is how the spell would _customarily_ work. Fortunately, it is a simple matter to cast a release spell that will discharge you both from here."

Crane’s hands flexed. "Release from Purgatory is… simple?"

She nodded. "Yes. The spell is of modest difficulty."

"Then why on _earth_ have you not cast that spell, Katrina? Centuries ago?" The frustration in his voice was painfully obvious.

Now Katrina looked surprised. I wondered if maybe she wasn’t used to answering questions about magic stuff. “Initially, I waited because I hoped that we might be reunited, after you awakened.” She gave Crane a tiny, sad smile. “However, once I learned of the horrors that befell our child, and that I had allowed this tragedy to happen, undoing this mistake became my objective."

Crane shook his head, like he was trying to clear it.  “Naturally, I share your abhorrence of Jeremy's suffering, but am afraid I do not follow how that pertains to remaining in Purgatory.”

“Purgatory was the one place where the Four Who Speak as One would not follow me and there are others in this place who are knowledgeable of magic. I questioned these others most closely, desperate to find a spell that could reverse my mistake. After many years and much seeking, I learned of the spell of undoing. Upon further investigation, I discovered the spell in your library in Sleepy Hollow. I do hope you have brought the spellbook?”

Crane patted the pocket of his coat. “I have it, but fear you are mistaken that the spell of undoing it contains differs from the release spell of which you were already aware. By definition, they sound as if their functions are the same."

"Forgive my oversight." She bowed slightly. "This sort of misunderstanding is why magic is best left to those knowledgeable of its practice." I couldn't be sure, but I thought I detected the tiniest bit of shade when she said the last part.

"Put simply, the release spell returns the subject to the place where they entered purgatory. With the spell of undoing, it is as if the spell had never taken place."

There was a long pause. I could tell it was killing Crane to have to ask for all this stuff explained. Finally, he huffed, "Meaning?"

"The subject returns not only to the same place where the original spell was cast, but also to the same time. November of 1780, as I recall."

"You're going back in time?" I gasped, not believing I heard those words coming out of my mouth. It sounded like science fiction.

"Precisely, Ms. Mills." Katrina beamed at me like 'See? Someone gets it', then turned toward Crane. "If I am quick, I believe I can save Jeremy, as well as Grace and Joseph."

***Crane pov***

A chill went up my spine. "Can this be true?" I stepped closer to Katrina, clasping her hand between my palms. It was too great a blessing to be believed.

"It will be difficult, of course, as I shall have the Four Who Speak As One at my heels. However, I understand now that any outcome would be better than what transpired."

"Are you certain you wish to do this, Katrina?" I felt like a coward and a cad for sending my wife into certain danger. _My wife._ It was exceedingly odd to hear those words again, even in my thoughts. “In addition to the dangers from the Four, the spell is untried.”

"I am perfectly certain." Her eyes blazed. "I have had centuries to consider it and would do anything - _anything_ \- to save our child from the pain he endured. Also, the time I have passed in prayer and study here has taught me much. When the Four attack, they shall have a fair fight on their hands."

I brought her hand to my lips and kissed it tenderly. “Thank you,” I whispered. “This is a greater gift than I ever dared hope for.”

“I should also mention…” she looked at the floor, sighed, then back up at me. “It will not be possible for me to return here from the past. Once the spell is unbound, we shall be forever lost to one another.”

I ran my thumb over the knuckles of her hand that I clasped. “I shall never forget you.”

She pulled her hand away. “Kindly do not varnish the truth in an attempt to spare my feelings. It became evident you had forgotten me when I could no longer contact you in dreams." She glanced at the lieutenant, who had moved across the room and was looking out the window. “That is why I had to send Ms. Mills the dream of where to find the book with the spell of undoing.”

“I did not nor would I _ever_ forget you. And would explain further... provided you are certain you wish to speak of this now. I cannot promise it will be a pleasant discussion.”

“We have a bit of time before the minion tells Moloch where to find you. And if not now, when?”

I collected my thoughts for a moment, trying to think how to express, tactfully, what I meant to say. "It is not that I forgot you, but that I had to put you from my mind because I could not bear to think of all the things unsaid between us.”

“Pray tell what you intend by 'unsaid'?” Her brows drew together.

“You concealed from me the fact that you are a witch, Katrina. That is hardly a minor detail.”

“Concealed?!” Her voice rose. “I tried countless times to tell you! But you were too preoccupied with your work for General Washington to listen."

“It was an honor to serve the general!" I sputtered, unable to believe she used the estimable Washington as a point of argument.

"I am well aware of your admiration for the general as you spoke of him constantly. By the saints! I heard so much of him that I felt as if he was a third partner in our union.”

“The missions I commanded were vital to the Continental Army!” This time, it was my voice that grew louder.

“Yes, it was _profoundly_ evident how vital you considered them to be.” Her hands clenched as she closed her eyes, then released a breath through pursed lips. When she opened her eyes again, she seemed calmer. “Forgive me. It is silly of me to spend the little time we have in quarrelling.”

At her words, I felt ashamed. "My apologies. My temper carried me away."

“Suffice it to say, between my fear of being burnt at the stake and your seeming dearth of interest, it seemed best to disregard the matter of my true nature.”

"Our trip to Fredericks' Manor..." My jaw dropped as the memory assailed me. I recalled the hints Katrina and the other members of her coven had tried to give me that day of who they actually were. "You attempted to tell me, but I boorishly kept turning the conversation back to the war... and General Washington." I felt myself blushing as I said the last.

"Exactly." She nodded. "However, it was not boorish; you are never that. Merely... a bit single-minded."

I felt chagrin as I wondered how many other times she had attempted to reveal the truth and I had been too involved with my own concerns to notice. “Upon consideration, I can see where I may not have been properly attentive. Will you please accept my humble and sincere apologies?” I bowed then, going down on one knee.

“There is nothing to forgive.” Katrina gave a small smile as I rose to my feet again.

She reached up to push my hair back from his face. (It must have come untied when the lieutenant and I were in the whirlwind.) Her hand lingered on my cheek for a moment, then she let her arm drop to her side. “Is there anything else you desire to ask me?”

“You are certain? As you noted, it is silly to spend this precious time in argument.”

She gave a brisk nod. “I should like to resolve these things ‘unsaid between us’ that have vexed you."

I took a deep breath, knowing there was no decorous way to say what I needed to ask. “Did you marry me to trigger the chain of events that would enable my survival until the second witness’s time? Or because you loved me?”

She grimaced. "In candor, I must tell you the answer is... the former, but with a caveat."

As soon as she spoke the words, I realized I had always known, but my heart still ached to hear it.

"And the caveat is?" I whispered.

"That I came to love you, with all my heart, Ichabod." Her expression was warm and open as she said this, her eyes glistening.

"As I with you." _From the time we began courting._

"I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive my deceit in this matter. It was necessary to forestall the end times.  We could see no other way."

"Of course." I nodded. "The apocalypse is of far greater import than the lives of two individuals." Intellectually, I knew this to be true but it was of little succor, at the moment. I wondered how long she had pretended to care for me before it became fact.

Unbidden, my thoughts turned to our wedding night and what had I thought was her virginal modesty. Had she actually been gritting her teeth, thinking of her duty to save future generations from the end times and willing our joining to be over quickly? Feeling a bit sick at this memory, now seen in a different light, I pinched the bridge of my nose, banishing this unpleasant thought from my mind. Katrina said that she had come to love me and... I was grateful for that love. It would be churlish to feel otherwise, particularly in light of the sacrifice she was about to make for our child.

We stood looking at each other for a moment. “I have made a fine mess of this thing, have I not?” she sighed.

I shook my head. “There is ample blame to go ‘round."

“But perhaps the worst of it - what happened to our son, Grace, and Joseph - can yet be corrected.”

At this truth, I put out my arms out toward her and she stepped into my embrace, laying her head against my shoulder. I smelled the familiar scent of her hair, laid my hands against the curve of her back, and felt… nothing. That is to say, I felt gratitude, obviously, but the spark I remembered from her touch was nowhere to be found.

“You know I would willingly do this thing in your stead."

“Your duty is here, with the second witness, now.” She looked up at me. “But thank you.”

She put her cheek forward and I kissed it softly.

After a moment, she stepped back. "The minion will tell Moloch of your presence soon. Perhaps we should proceed?"

I fished the spellbook out of my pocket and placed it in Katrina's outstretched hand. She immediately began to flip through it, pausing occasionally to look at various pages, humming softly as she read.

“Might you be able to send word somehow, to advise if you succeed?”

“I shall try.” She glanced up at me, then returned to turning pages of the ancient book.

“I have marked the page.”

“I know.” She continued turning pages. Finally, she tapped the page where I had placed a marker. "I believe this is the only spell required.”

“You guys OK?” The lieutenant stood beside me. “I don’t mind waiting, if you need more time?”

“Thank you, Ms. Mills. But we are almost ready.” Katrina turned to me. “We must conclude the spells at precisely the same moment. If you will kindly read the remainder of the spell of undoing at a pace that is comfortable, I shall ensure I finish the spell of release from Purgatory at the exact moment you finish.

The lieutenant looked back and forth between Katrina and me. "How will you return to this time, Katrina? Will the undo spell work again?"

Katrina bit her lip and looked at the floor. "I must remain in the past," she said softly.

After a moment, the lieutenant nudged my arm. When I glanced at her, she raised her eyebrows and inclined her head slightly toward Katrina.

_Oh!_ I fumbled in my pocket for my handkerchief, then stepped toward Katrina, to offer it.

She put up her hand. "Thank you, Ichabod. But I am fine." She looked up from the book. Other than her eyes appearing a bit reddened, her mask of control was back in place.

“Before we begin, I should like to say something.” Katrina took a deep breath. “As I shall not return to this time, it is only fair that I release you from the vows you made to me."

Her gaze met mine and, beneath her composure, I thought I saw sadness (which I shared, of course, for what might have been between us.) I wondered if a speech about regrets and undying love was warranted, for civility, but decided that doing so would dishonor her candor in our earlier conversation. "In equity, and with all respect, I in turn release you from your vows to me.” After a pause, I said, “I shall not; however, forget you. And I hope you will take me at my word, this time.”

“Indeed I shall.” The corners of her mouth turned up slightly and I felt some of the tension dissipate.

Then something occurred to me. _Probably it would be unneeded but…_ "Ahem. I also have a 'before we begin,’ if I may. Should you require a place of concealment, I have an aunt and uncle in Sussex: Horace and Patience Wolcott. They were always most solicitous to me, as a child. I feel certain they would be kind to our child as well."

"The Wolcotts in Sussex," Katrina repeated, as if she were memorizing it.

"Precisely. Their cottage is The Cedars."

"Thank you, Ichabod. I am grateful to know of this refuge, though it is to be hoped it shall not be required.” She brushed her fingertips over the pages of the book she held in her outstretched palm. “If you are both ready, then?”

The lieutenant nodded. “Ready.”

Katrina passed me the book. Of course, I had memorized the undo spell beforehand, but read from the pages anyway. As I spoke, Katrina raised her hands and began to speak a language that I did not recognize in a whispery voice that seemed to echo strangely. I wished to stop and listen, to attempt to parse it, but forced myself to concentrate on the spell I was reading, as I knew it was vital we finished simultaneously.

For a few moments, nothing happened. Then, Katrina seemed to be receding… or perhaps we were moving backward. The space around us appeared to have filled with some sort of fog. With a start, I realized I could no longer feel the floor beneath my feet. Reflexively, I reached for the lieutenant and immediately found her hand. (She must have put her arm out at the same moment I did.) Suddenly, the floating sensation did not seem so discomfiting.

As I continued to read, I glanced back up at Katrina. The space around her had filled with the same fog that surrounded us. She appeared further away and her voice had grown fainter. I attempted to draw a deep breath, to raise my voice, so she could better hear me, but found myself gasping. The air had become thin, as if we were at a high altitude. I glanced quickly over at the lieutenant. Her bosom rose and fell, then she mouthed, "I'm ok." I could not observe further, as I feared further distraction would make me err in speaking.

As I neared the end of the spell, I struggled for breath every few words. Hoping Katrina was having an easier time of it, I glanced up from the book again and was shocked to see how small and far away she appeared. Through the blur of the fog, I could barely make out her raised arms and red hair. _Is this the last time we shall ever see each other?_

As I spoke the last word of the spell, there was a loud crack, like a stroke of lightning and our surroundings went dark. With a jolt, I felt the lieutenant's hand torn from my grasp as we went from floating to falling through featureless black space. I reached for Ms. Mills and tried to shout her name, but my voice made no sound. The air seemed to have departed this place at the same time the light did. Too panicked for thought, I flailed as I fell, my arms fruitlessly grasping for the lieutenant, until I knew no more.

***

I awoke on my back in a pitch dark room where, thank the heavens, I could breathe again. With my first breath, I filled my lungs. With my second, I whispered, "Lieutenant?"

When there was no answer, I reached in my pocket for my torch.  I pressed the button and shone the beam into the darkness.

Ah. I was in the firebox room at the power plant, still in the circles where we had cast the spell we thought would rescue Katrina. The leaves the lieutenant had strewn were scattered around me.

A few feet away, I beheld the lieutenant's small form lying face down on the concrete floor.

"Lieutenant?" I sprang up and ran to where she had fallen.

As I approached, she did not move or respond. _Perhaps she is injured?_  I aimed the torch's beam at her face. It was peaceful, as if she were sleeping.

My breath caught in my throat as I folded my trembling hand around her wrist. Her pulse was strong against my fingertips and I felt faint from relief.

_Perhaps she needs air?_ Cradling her head, I rolled her carefully onto her back on the cold floor. Her limbs appeared sound and I could see no sign of injury.

I lay the torch on the floor beside me, picked up her hand, and patted, then chafed it between my palms. "Do wake up, Lieutenant." Her palm felt cool and perfectly still.

I stroked my fingertips against her cheek. “You really must awaken as I am unsure how long we have been here - hours may have passed whilst I slept." She did not stir or respond. "Moloch will soon know where we are… may already know, in fact."

“If you refuse to bestir yourself, I shall have to carry you.” I had to stop and think a moment how best to transport both the lieutenant and the torch. “Apologies for this liberty with your person, but I dare not wait here until you deign to arise.” I knelt beside her and slipped my arm around her back, carrying her with me as I stood up. Then, with the hand holding the torch, I hooked my other arm beneath her knees and lifted.

She was so small and light in my arms. I kept expecting to see her eyes flutter open. Perhaps she would yawn and stretch (as she did when she awakened in the morning) and ask me ‘what the hell’ I thought I was doing. Instead she lay there, frighteningly still.

Her head tipped backward, as I gazed at her, and I moved my arm to brace it against my shoulder.

“Shall we, then?” With the beam of the torch to guide me, I set off toward the hall.

The trail of arrows we had left made short work of my return trip. Unfortunately, the ease of navigation gave me opportunity to worry. _Should Ms. Mills not have stirred by now?_

_She should see a doctor. I shall convey her to the hospital as soon as we depart this decrepit place._ Though loathe to admit such things to the lieutenant, I was well aware that medical science had advanced by leaps, since my time. _At the hospital, they will know what to do to help her._

_...unless they do not know_. In the aftermath of battle, I had seen not a few corpses that appeared to be sleeping.

...but I had checked her pulse and it was strong. _She is fine. She will be fine._

“Damnation!” I had become so lost in my thoughts that I found myself in a hallway I did not recognize and had to backtrack.

_Her injury is my fault for permitting her to assist me on this dangerous errand._ Against my will, I recalled Officer Brooks’ words about how I was using Ms. Mills and Ms. Jenny. As foul as the officer had become, I could not deny the truth of what he said. Ms. Mills had helped me most generously, over and over again - nearly wrecking her vehicle to help me find my watch and now endangering her life to help with Katrina's "rescue". And what had I offered in return? Nothing. Rather, I had exploited her kindness for my own purposes. I felt ashamed of what a poor and selfish friend I was to Ms. Mills. If she did not recover, it would be entirely my fault.

_No! She will recover._ _There is simply no alternative_.

I beheld the exit door ahead. _At last!_ After easing it open with my shoulder, I strode into the courtyard.

Scanning the area, I began to wonder if, perhaps, my passage from the building had been a bit too easy. There were no demons in sight... but what were those dark masses in the trees and on the roof of the power plant? I squinted, but could not make them out. _Likely, the best course of action is to be away from them._

I hurried to the lieutenant’s car, then stood stock still for a moment, my mouth gaping, as the horrible realization washed over me: I would have to pilot her vehicle.

_Perhaps I can walk back to town? Ms. Mills is not in the least heavy._

Just then, one of the black things separated from the others on the roof and fluttered down to land in the courtyard a few yards away from me.

_Dear God!_ It was the largest bird I had ever seen - half again as large as a raven. It cocked its head to glare at me with a beady red eye.

My gaze swept upward again. If the dark forms were its fellows, there must be hundreds more - nay, thousands - clustered on the roof and in the treetops. Suddenly, piloting the lieutenant’s vehicle seemed a more appealing idea.

I set the lieutenant’s feet on the ground, leaning her against my chest. Then, with my free hand, I tried the door handle of her vehicle. Locked. _Stupid of me; she always locks it._

“Pray forgive me again for this liberty,” I told the top of her head as I dipped my fingers into the pocket of her trousers where she customarily kept her keys.

After hastily withdrawing them, I unlocked the vehicle and, leaning over, carefully lay Ms. Mills in the back seat. I could not resist placing my fingertips against her wrist again and was relieved to find her pulse as steady and strong as I recalled. _Clearly she will recover. I shall not permit any other course of action._

When I emerged from the car, the sight I beheld made me jump. Several of the birds huddled a few yards away. One of them separated from the mass to hop toward me. It moved surprisingly quickly.

Just as quickly, I closed the back door and seated myself in the pilot’s chair, locking the doors behind me, for good measure. The seat was so close to the instrument panel that my knees were practically at my chest.

Before me were the controls that I had seen the lieutenant utilize hundreds of times, sipping coffee and carrying on a conversation as she did so. She made the process look so easy that I had never paid proper attention, an oversight I now greatly regretted.

I clicking sound brought me out of my reverie. Two of the birds had landed on the prow of the vehicle. Their claws ticked and scraped against the metal. One of them hopped toward the windscreen and tapped the glass with its sharp beak. I startled at the surprisingly loud sound. It was almost like a gunshot. The bird opened its beak and made a sound halfway between a caw and a shriek, which its fellows echoed. Several more of them fluttered down to land on and around the vehicle.

My hands shook as I fumbled through the lieutenant’s keys, looking for the one that would bring to life the automobile’s engine. _Morales can do this; how difficult can it be?_

The key fitted smoothly into the lock. When I turned it, clockwise, I heard the familiar growl of the engine. I breathed a sigh of relief. _Perhaps this will not be as onerous as I thought._

"We shall begin our journey to the hospital in a moment. You will be feeling much better soon." I strove to keep my voice cheerful.

_Only... what now?_ The arrow on the gauge by the wheel pointed to "P". I reasoned this most likely represented “Proceed”. So why did the vehicle not move? I tried placing my boot on the vertical footrest where the lieutenant often located her foot whilst the vehicle was moving. The engine growled louder, but the vehicle remained still.

I heard another loud gunshot-like sound. When I looked up, I gasped at what I saw. Dozens of the black birds perched on the front of the vehicle and hundreds more stood on the pavement around it. As I looked up, several of the birds on the prow of the automobile began driving the points of their beaks against the front window. The noise inside the automobile was deafening, like being in the heat of battle. I noticed a small crack, no wider than a hair beginning in the corner of the glass, where one of the birds was pecking.

_Concentrate… what does the lieutenant do when she launches her automobile?_ I tried closing my eyes to picture the sequence of steps I had seen her complete hundreds of times, but the cacophony of the birds pecking the windscreen and their shrieking calls precluded thought.

“Damnation! Will you stop that infernal racket?” I barked. I few of them fluttered upward for a moment, then returned to the vehicle and resumed pecking. I noticed another crack had begun to form a few inches below eye level on my side of the glass. _How much longer before they break through? And then what?_ I glanced back at the lieutenant. She was utterly defenseless.

My gaze fell on the gauge in the middle of the panel again. Perhaps the D stood for “dorsal” or “ _dirigeant en arrière_ ”? I needed to move the vehicle backward to avoid the “Reserved for Chairman” sign positioned before it.

Taking a deep breath, I moved the handle beside the wheel as I had seen Ms. Mills do, observing as the arrow on the gauge moved from P to D.

Instantly, the vehicle leapt forward. I heard a sickening crunch as it plowed over the sign, then came to a stop a few feet from where it had rested at the outset. The engine seemed to have quit as well. The jolt as we stopped had also caused the lieutenant to roll from the back seat onto the floor.

“Ms. Mills!” I started to open the door, to reposition her on the seat, but stopped when I saw the sea of black feathers surrounding us. The abrupt movement of the vehicle had unsettled the creatures from the prow of the automobile, but now they fluttered back. I closed my eyes as I heard the pecking begin again.

I looked into the back seat at Ms. Mills’ small form, crumpled on the floor. I reached behind me to reposition her arm, where it had landed awkwardly over her face and felt her breath on my hand, as I did so. _But for how much longer? I must do something!_

Running my fingers through my hair, I took a few deep breaths, waiting for an idea to come, but there was nothing… other than the birds’ infernal pecking. I rested my head on the wheel, feeling tears spring to my eyes.

“Dear Ms. Mills,” I whispered. “I desperately need for you to awaken now as I am failing miserably to protect you and am uncertain what to attempt next.” My breath caught in my throat. “Please, dearest, wake up!”


	16. Chapter 16

Abbie pov

“She’s waking up, Lori.”

“I can see that for myself, thanks.”

_I can breathe again. Thank God!_ I spent a few seconds just enjoying how unbelievably fantastic the oxygen thing was, looking around as I did so.

I was lying on a sofa in what looked like our old apartment with what looked like my mom and dad standing over me. Obviously, it wasn’t real - they tore this building down a few years ago to put in a shopping center. _So… what’s going on? And who - or what - is pretending to be my parents? And where the hell is Crane?_

“Where am I?”

“This is the other side,” Not-Mom said.

My mouth suddenly went dry. “Am I dead?” _Shit! That means Crane is screwed. Maybe Jenny can be the replacement witness? No, she’ll kill him; he gets on her nerves too much._

“Definitely still alive” Not-Mom shook her head. Her small gold hoop earrings swayed as her head moved. They looked like the ones Dad got Mom for their anniversary one year. She was wearing pants and a blouse I remembered real-Mom wearing a lot and that I had always thought were cute (well, for a Mom outfit).

“Sorry, but you’ve got to go back for six more years of tribulations,” Not-Dad said.

“How do you know about those?”

“Quit getting ahead of me.” Not-Mom poked his arm. I noticed her nails were Mom’s favorite coral pink. “They sent a memo around. Everyone here is rooting for you guys.”

“You and the other witness.” Not-Dad looked around her shoulder.

The room spun as I slowly sat up and I put my hand on my forehead. Not-Mom’s brow furrowed and she touched my shoulder. “Are you OK, Baby Girl? Do you need a drink of water or anything?”

“Lori, no! She can’t eat or drink anything or she’ll have to stay.”

“Ugh, you’re right. Sorry, instincts just took over there for a second. Hmm…” She tapped her finger against her lips, as she thought, the way Mom used to do. _Whoever these guys are, they’ve done their homework._ “Do you want a damp washrag, to put on your forehead?”

“Just don’t eat it or anything,” Not-Dad put in.

“Thanks, but I think I feel better.” I really did. The room was behaving itself and staying in one place now.

_Let’s see how much they know._ “So, you already heard about the witnesses?”

“Yeah, they told us about you guys. They’re pretty good about keeping us up-to-date.” Not-Dad sat down on what looked like his old chair across from the sofa. It had a plaid blanket thrown over it, just like I remembered. _Apparently they can read my mind… or maybe my memories. Not good!_ I was going to have to be extra-careful.

“The memo we got said the other witness is a college professor from Revolutionary War times.” Not-Mom walked over and sat in the other chair.

“Is he driving you crazy yet?” Not-Dad said. “We figured he’d be all ‘thee’ and ‘thou’ and ‘gadzooks’.”

I chuckled just a little bit. _No! Don’t let your guard down!_ “He was at first, but he’s kind of settling in now. He around here anyplace?”

Not-Mom shook her head. “The witch’s spell took him right back. He’s been dead before, so Purgatory was easier on him.”

“Is he OK?”

They looked at each other, then Not-Mom said, “He’ll be OK.”

_What?!_ “That means he’s not OK now?” I stood up… and immediately sat down again when the room spun like a ferris wheel. “You have to send me back. He needs my help.”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Not-Dad shook his head. “He’ll be OK and he’s… realizing some stuff that he needs to realize.”

“You’ll go back at exactly the right time,” Not-Mom said. “Your Dad is right - the other witness will be fine.”

“I don’t care if it’s the ‘wrong’ time, I need to go back NOW!” I dug my fingernails into my palms as I waited for the room to stop spinning. _Yeah, like I was going to be so much help to Crane anyway if I couldn’t even stand up._

Not-Mom shook her head. “I’m sorry, Baby, but we don’t have control over that. We’re not magic or anything, like the witch. You’ll go when...”

“...when it’s the right time,” Not-Dad finished for her.

“You’re not fooling me, you know. This isn’t our old apartment and you’re not my parents.”

“You’re right about the apartment - but it’s a pretty good fake, huh?” Not-Dad looked around the room. “They even got the cigarette burns in the carpet. There’s the one by the TV that kind of looks New Jersey.” He pointed.

I had to look. There it was - Garden State burn mark, just like I remembered. _(But I didn’t remember it until Not-Dad reminded me. What was the deal with that?)_

“But you’re wrong about us,” Not-Mom said. “We are your parents.”

“Prove it.”

“Ask me anything.” Not-Dad held his palms up.

My mind went blank. _What was something my Dad would have known that I didn’t know, so they couldn’t read my mind for the answer?_ “How do you, um, change the oil pump in a car?”

“Way too easy.” He smiled. “What kind of car?”

“I don’t know… Ford?

“Model and year, please,” Not-Dad sing-songed.

“Taurus… 2009.”

“They didn’t make the Taurus that year,” Not-Dad said, “It was replaced by the Fusion. Want to hear how to change the oil pump on that puppy?”

“Fine.” I shrugged. _How is he going to fake this?_

“I’m going to assume you’ve already got it jacked up and you have your drip pan under the oil pan, which you will find at the verrrrrry bottom of the engine block.” Not-Dad cracked his knuckles. “Next you want to disconnect the negative battery cable and remove the oil dipstick. After that-”

_He definitely knows more about this than me._ So much more that my eyes were starting to glaze over. Just them, Not-Mom leaned over and put her hand on my arm. “Would you like me to tell you your teachers’ names?”

That was a good idea, actually. They started to blur together in middle school, so she couldn’t read my mind for the answer.

“Who was my sixth grade social studies teacher?”

“Mrs. Green-Benson,” she said with a smile. “But you started calling her Mrs. Green-Bean when she gave you a C in her class.”

I gasped. I had totally forgotten about that, but as soon as she said it, I knew she was right. “I deserved it, actually, I did a crummy job on my-”

“-map of the world. It had economic stuff…” Her brow furrowed and she tapped her finger against her lips again. “...the imports and exports for all the countries.” She shook her head. “We stayed up all night working on that thing.”

“And it showed,” I laughed. “About 4AM, I was just making stuff up. I think I put that the major export of Japan was-”

“-Hello Kitty,” Not-Mom laughed. “You’re making me tired all over again just thinking about it. Do you remember what happened next? After that all-nighter, I was too tired to make you guys’ breakfast, so we stopped at-”

“Tim Horton’s! On the way to school. We never, ever, EVER went out to eat, so it was a gigantic thrill. Jenny kept saying-”

“‘These are the best pancakes in the whole world,’” we both said at the same time.

Not-Mom smiled again. “We had some good times before I started talking to the lampshades, huh?”

I felt my stomach clench. “You were sick. That wasn’t your fault.”

“Didn’t help matters when I left you with two girls to support,” Dad, _I mean not-Dad_ , said.

“You didn’t want the girls to see how much you were drinking or see you passed out.”

“I also didn’t want to burn the house down. Who do you think put all these burn marks in the carpet when he was drunk and smoking?”

“I am so glad I didn’t know about that, back then.” Mom shook her head. “But that goes along with what I was saying: you were trying to protect us.”

“But I could have joined that AA thing - Triple A - whatever it’s called.”

“Maybe…” She shrugged. “But people didn’t talk about stuff like that out in the open as much back in the day, like they do now. Also, you were the only black guy at the garage, so you felt like you had to be Mr. Perfect Everything all the time.”

I sat there with my mouth hanging open. “There’s no way my real parents would have talked about serious stuff like this. They never did that.”

“But I wish that we had.” Dad said, then turned to me. “I will _never_ forgive myself and _never_ stop regretting all the times I missed when you were growing up. You know how sorry I am, right? ”

“I know it now,” I said. _Don’t start crying! Don’t!_ I studied the carpet, blinking rapidly.

“I was enraged with your father when he left. Livid,” Mom said.

I knew that was true; I had been there for the yelling and breaking dishes.

“But now… it’s like I can see his side of it and it doesn’t bother me anymore. What matters is that we love each other.”

“Real talk.” Dad got up and kissed her cheek, then perched on the arm of her chair.

“How do you remember all that stuff - about my teachers and that dumb project?” I asked her. “It was my childhood and even I don’t remember half of that.”

“Because my family is the best thing that will ever happen to me. How could I forget what happened to the folks I love so much?" Her smile looked just like Mom when she was really happy or when she was proud of me.

I felt my eyes tearing up and it was like something hard and tight inside my chest cracked open. “Mom,” I whispered.

“Baby girl.” She sat beside me on the sofa and put her arms around me. Feeling the softness of her arms, just like I had almost forgotten, and her wonderful Mom scent (Dove soap and Avon Topaz perfume) I felt my chest convulse with a sob and I put my arms around her, holding her tight. If she was fake, I wouldn’t even have cared, at that point. “I have missed you so much.”

“Now you’ve got her crying.” I felt Dad sit down on the other side of me and start patting my back. He didn’t smell like Newport cigarettes anymore.

“You quit smoking?” I gasped, turning toward him.

“Finally lost the taste for it.” He smiled. “Besides, those things’ll kill you.”

We sat there for a minute with Mom holding me and Dad patting my back until I quit crying. Mom handed me a tissue as I dabbed at my eyes and tried to do damage control with my mascara.

“You look beautiful,” Mom said.

“I’m finding that pretty hard to believe,” I said as I reached for another tissue. _Why don’t I just buy the waterproof kind?_ “But thanks. You guys look great, too.” They really did. They were kind of the younger versions of themselves that I remembered from when Jenny and I were little.

“Your sister doing OK?” Dad said.

“She had some rough times for awhile and we weren’t getting along,” I said. “But I think things are smoothing out between us now.”

The three of us sat there smiling at each other. (We were never much for small talk.)

At the exact moment it was starting to get awkward, my dad rubbed his chin. “So… I’m thinking it’s been awhile since I kicked your behind at Uno.”

I made a scoffing sound. “Pretty sure it has because, as I recall, you were usually the one getting his behind kicked.”

“It’s on, Baby Girl!” My dad hopped up from the sofa and got the Uno cards from the junk drawer in the kitchen. He sat at the table and shuffled them the fancy way that used to impress the hell out of me. Actually, I was still impressed. I loved the practiced motions his hands made and how they made the cards dance. “Care to join us, Lori?”

“You talked me into it.”

We got up from the sofa together and walked over to the table just as Dad finished dealing the cards. He gave me good starting hand - a mix of colors and one wild card, but not the ultimate weapon Wild + Draw 4. I kept my face a careful blank as I glanced at my dad to see if I could tell what kind of hand he had. He caught me looking and I giggled as he made a face.

“Since Abbie is our guest, she gets to go first.” Mom said.

I fiddled with my cards a little, like I was thinking about what to do, then plopped down a blue card. My parents both followed suit and we went around the table that way a few times.

“So… the other witness is Crane?” My dad’s brow furrowed as he arranged his cards, then laid down a wildcard. “Change to green.”

“Thanks a ton!” Figures it was a color I didn’t have. I rolled my eyes and started drawing cards. (I was holding on to that wildcard from my starting hand for when I really needed it.) “Yeah, he’s the first witness. I’m number 2… but that just means I try harder.”

“Was there some sort of magic keeping him around?” My mom said.

“Exactly.” I smiled at her. “He was killed in a battle back then, but a witch, who was his wife, cast a spell so he would sleep for the next two hundred years. She was in Purgatory - long story. I got pulled in here when we were trying to rescue her.”

“So… did you spring her? Change to yellow.” My dad plopped down another wildcard.

“Easy to see who dealt, with all those wildcards you have over there.” I gave him a side-eye.

"Pays to be the dealer." He grinned.

"She’s out but she went back to Revolutionary War times. Permanently. She had some business to take care of, back then.”

“Was Crane upset?” Mom said. “It had to be terrible for him to see his wife just to lose her again.”

“It’s funny because that’s how I thought they would be - crying and hugging each other. But instead it sounded like they were arguing.” I put down another card. Unfortunately, I still had a ton of other cards from that green wildcard Dad had put down earlier. “I wasn’t listening, but their voices were kind of loud sometimes and it was hard not to hear them.”

“If they weren’t getting along, maybe it worked out for the best, with her leaving and all.” Dad put down a reverse card, so now he was after me. _Oh hell yes! Payback time!_

“I’m sorry not to offer potato chips or something. It seems so funny to play cards without snacks,” Mom said, as she put another reverse card down. _Damn!_

“If I had just a tiny nibble, maybe it would let me stay for a long visit?” I said.

“Wish it worked that way.” Dad rearranged the cards in his hand. “So what’s this witness job like?”

“I don’t even know where to start,” I laughed. “There’s a lot of running and fighting and sometimes Moloch, or his minions.”

Dad wrinkled his nose. “Not sounding too great so far. I was thinking I was going to put in an application to be number 3, but now you're talking me out of it."

“It’s kind of scary sometimes. Like, awhile back, we were possessed by these will-o-the-wisp demons-”

Mom made a face. “Those things are bad news.”

“Tell me about it. They had us following them until I ran out of gas in the middle of a swamp. We were stuck there overnight and I had a freaky dream,” _that we will not be discussing, thank you very much._ “I mean I thought it was my dream, only Crane was in it and he thought it was his dream. It’s hard to explain.

After that, Crane and one of Jenny’s friends built this science project thing to destroy a hellmouth behind the A&P and we found some old drawings by Crane’s son, from Revolutionary times. We had to give the drawings back, but Crane re-drew one of them from memory.” I mimed drawing.

“The picture turned out to be one of those magic eye things and I found a secret message hidden in it. Oh! Actually, it was kind of cool recently because we got to ride horses.” I did a little dance in my chair. “We rode to this abandoned village to get a thingy for the spell to rescue Crane’s wife. But then these demons showed up and Crane and I kicked their behinds. Crane fought a bunch of them at the same time with this sword he had with him.” I made a sword-fighting gesture.

I had been talking so fast I had to pause to take a breath. That was when I noticed Mom and Dad’s identical round-eyed expressions.

_Ugh. That had been a little too enthusiastic, hadn’t it?_

I arranged my face into what I hoped was a neutral expression. “So, yeah, the witness thing is, um, whatever.” I shrugged and acted like I was engrossed in arranging my cards.

After a pause, my dad said, “Wow… you guys sound like regular action heroes.”

I waved my hand, still not looking up from my cards. “It’s no big deal.”

“So, you and this Crane guy are just co-workers?” My mom laid down a card. It was the wrong color.

“We’re on yellow, Mom.”

“Oh, sorry.” She picked it up and put down a yellow card this time.

I was going to ignore the question until Dad said, “Not that it’s any of my business but I notice you didn’t answer.”

“Not that it’s any of our business.” Mom said to him, then turned to me. “Sorry, he’s nosey because he cares.”

_Ugh, awkward… but why am I making such a big deal out of this when the answer is simple?_

“Of course we’re just co-workers. Why wouldn’t we be? It’s your turn, Dad.”

He laid down a reverse, then tapped Mom’s arm. “Your turn again, Lori.”

Mom laid down a card. “So what’s this guy like?”

“Oh, you know, all ‘thee’ and ‘thou’ and ‘gadzooks.’” I smiled, feeling kind of slick for deflecting the question. “Only…”

I have no clue why I said what I said next. There I was, almost off the hook with answering questions, and what did I do but jump right back on again.

“...he wrote me this letter. It was _obviously_ a prank; I don’t even know why I’m mentioning it.” _Literally. No. Idea. Maybe my mouth is possessed by a demon that makes me babble like an idiot? Or maybe because I really want to know what Crane was trying to tell me?_ I felt so flustered that I didn't even gloat or talk smack when I dropped a Draw 2 card on my Dad.

“What did the letter say?” Mom smiled. “Maybe the three of us can figure out what he meant.”

I took a deep breath. “It talked about how he was infatuated with me and had a poem with my name in it and stuff like that. Then, he left the letter in a drawer at the kitchen table, where he _had_ to know I would find it… right?  Obviously, it was a prank… right?” My face felt like it was on fire and I felt kind of queasy, at the same time. It wasn’t a good combination. _Maybe I should say I want to go check out my old room and then stay in there until it’s ‘exactly the right time’ and I get hauled into the airless black hole again… which actually sounds pretty inviting right about now._

"Does this guy have a lot of spare time? Like, doesn't watch TV or read or anything?" Dad said. He drummed his fingers on the table a couple of times, then laid down a 5. I noticed, then, that he didn't have many cards left in his hand. _Dammit. He'll never let me live it down that I let a dead guy beat me at a little kids’ card game._

I thought about his question. "No, Crane stays pretty busy. There's always hellspawn to fight or a moldy old book to translate. Why do you ask?"

"Because have you ever, even once, known someone with so much time on their hands that they don't have anything better to do than write fake love letters? Also, doesn’t that seem like a pretty mean thing to do to somebody, especially to your partner?"

He kind of had me there. However... "I thought about that too. But, remember, he's from another time when people wrote letters as often as they breathed. So it's probably something folks back then did, for a joke."

Dad scowled at his cards, then started drawing. _Yay! Maybe it's still anybody's game._ "Got to disagree with you. Since I've been here, I've met plenty of folks from Revolutionary times or even further back and they seem pretty much like us."

"Well, except for the 'thee' and 'thou,' stuff," Mom said.

"OK, yeah, they talk different. Crane probably does too?"

I nodded.

"But once you get to know them, they're generally pretty cool. A lot of them have the God-given sense to be Mets fans, too.”

"Good to know" I nodded, wondering where he was going with this.

"And my point is... they don't sit around writing fake letters to each other because they have better stuff to do, just like we do."

"Maybe..." I felt my stomach start to clench.

"This is just a hunch," Mom said, "but hear me out. Do you think you might be afraid?"

"No!" It came out a lot louder and sharper than I meant it to. Then I realized how silly that was.   _After all-_

"I'm a cop, Mom. I’ve been shot at. I carry a gun that’s bigger than my head. Not seeing myself as the scaredy cat type.” I laughed just a little because it was so ridiculous.

“That just means you’re not afraid to die. Doesn’t mean you’re not afraid to live.” Dad put down a 7.

“Exactly.” Mom nodded. “Oh, and by the way… Uno.” She grinned at us as she laid down her next-to-last card. _Dammit! Oh well, at least she won’t gloat like Dad does when he wins._

“It’s all on you, Dad,” I said as I put down a 4.

Dad rubbed his chin. “Sorry to do this to you, Babe, but…” he put down a Wild + Draw 4. “Change to red.”

“Thanks babe,” Mom said, giving him a side-eye as she drew.

I laid down a card immediately after Mom did, hoping we were off the subject that I had _stupidly_ brought up.

“Again, still just a hunch,” Mom said, and I knew I was still on the hook. “But you know that just because things didn’t work out between your Dad and me doesn’t mean the same thing will happen to you… right?”

Logically, I knew that, but it was another thing to hear it out loud. My heart pounded as I rested my hands on the table to hide how they were shaking. “Of course,” I shrugged, pretending like her words didn’t affect me.

Good.” She smiled her beautiful, warm Mom smile. “Just so you know.”

There was an awkward silence as we played without talking for a few minutes. I kept thinking about what Mom and Dad said and wasn’t really concentrating. But, ironically, I was having my best run of the game - I dumped a bunch of cards and both Mom and Dad had to draw.

Finally Dad spoke. “So, are there any other big, giant issues you’d like to discuss, while we’re all here? Maybe world peace?”

Mom and I both laughed.

“Actually, I do have one,” I said, as I laid down my next-to-last card, “Uno.” My last card was the wildcard I’d saved from the beginning of the game. _There’s almost no way I can lose!_

Just then, it seemed like the table was moving further away. I grabbed at the table edge, wondering if I was getting dizzy again, but my hands went right through it, like it was made of air.

“Ohhhh,” Mom sighed. “I’m sorry, Baby Girl. It looks like it’s time for you to go back,” She was already at least 10 feet away. Our living room looked like it was stretching out, as if it was made of Silly Putty.

“No! I don’t want to leave you guys again!”

“We’ll see you again… a really long time from now,” Dad said. “And don’t think this game is over.”

They were moving backwards faster now. The stretched-out room was like a long tunnel. “I love you!” I yelled, then took a deep breath as I waited for the air to run out.

“We love you!” Dad yelled.

“And don’t be scared!” Mom put her hands around her mouth, to make her voice carry further.

Suddenly, there was a brilliant flash of light.

***

Crane POV

_How long before the glass shatters? And what then? Do the birds intend murder? To carry us to the underworld to greet Moloch?_ I shuddered as I wondered if they were hungry.

These thoughts presented themselves in rapid succession as I listened to the wretched creatures driving their beaks against the windscreen of the lieutenant’s automobile and watched the cracks spread across the glass like a spider’s web.

I looked back at the lieutenant’s still, small form on the floor of the rear seat area, watched the rise and fall of her bosom as she drew and exhaled a breath. _Is this how our partnership ends? And because of my stupid oversight in not paying proper attention - despite numerous opportunities - to the process of piloting an automobile?_

_Or had I paid attention?_ I sat upright then, my hands flexing as they gripped the wheel.

I could easily recall isolated gestures, such as the lieutenant’s slender hand turning the key or Ms. Jenny’s efficient flick of the wrist to adjust the handle that adjoined the wheel. Perhaps I could sequence these vignettes to determine the complete process?

Unfortunately, the din produced by the wretched fowl made sustained thought nearly impossible.

_Then I must drown them out._ I took a deep breath, then closed my eyes and put my hands over my ears. For a moment, this deprivation of senses made my anxiety for the situation almost unbearable, as I would be unable to foresee the moment when the windscreen no longer shielded us from the birds’ onslaught.

_No. Concentrate._ Forcing the fear from my mind, I pictured the actions I could recall the lieutenant and others making in the pilot’s chair. Once I did so, their sequence fell into place.

_Indicator shows D - no, P at the outset, middle footrest, turn the key, D for forward or R for backward, right footrest._

It seemed so simple now.

I opened my eyes and uncovered my ears, then gasped as I saw one bird’s beak protruding through a jagged hole roughly the size of a coin in the windscreen. It pushed its face against the sharp edges of the hole, straining to advance. As I jerked backward, on reflex, it let out a piercing cry and snapped its long, sharp beak open and closed with a clicking sound. The inside of its mouth was the same unearthly blood red as its eyes.

_Ah. So they are hungry, then._ The horror of this thought made my mind a blank for a moment.

I shook my head to clear it. _And hungry they must remain… unless my previous misguided attempt has rendered the lieutenant’s vehicle inoperative?_ There was only one means to find out.

I placed my boot on the middle footrest, then moved the handle to P. After wiping the moisture from my palms against my trousers, I gripped the key and turned. When the engine roared to life, I almost sobbed with relief.

At the engine noise, the bird seemed to redouble its efforts to push through the hole in the windscreen while two of its fellows assisted by pecking the hole's edge. Chips of glass and black feathers fell against my hand as the bird shrieked and gnashed its beak.

_If I fail as I did before, the impact of the abrupt stop will likely shatter the remains of the windscreen._ I swallowed, then double-checked that my boot remained pressed against the middle footrest. My hand shook as I moved the handle to the D position. A tremor passed through the vehicle, then it was as before. I could feel the engine’s quiet rumble.

_Why do we not move? Ah. I must depress the right footrest._ As slowly as I could, I eased my boot upward. The vehicle inched forward, but at a snail’s pace rather than the violent lurch of my previous attempt.

But we were moving… toward the building. I turned the wheel to the right and was thrilled to see the vehicle make the same turn in response. I adjusted the wheel a few more degrees to direct the vehicle's prow toward the carriageway.

As we proceeded, the birds on the prow of the vehicle cawed and flew upward until only the beast with his head in the hole remained. "Yes! Away, you villains and take your hell spawned flock with you!" I shouted and shook my fist at them.

"Send Moloch my regards," I said as I pushed the heel of my hand toward the fellow intent on joining us in the cabin, meaning to push him outside again.

Unfortunately, the force of my gesture must have been too much for the fragile windscreen, which shattered into fragments. I heard the bird shriek and the flutter of its wings as chips of glass rained against my thighs.

_Damnation!_ In panic, I slammed my boot against the right footrest, shoving it hard against the floor. The engine roared as the vehicle lurched forward so hard my head snapped back.

There was a 'speed bump' at the transition from the courtyard to the carriageway. The vehicle hit this protrusion at full speed and seemed to leave the ground momentarily. We returned to earth a moment later with an immense clatter and a jolt that made my back teeth knock together. I groaned as I thought of the lieutenant, praying that she was unharmed.

It was quite a long carriageway and, as I sped along, I realized I could reduce the vehicle's speed by lessening the pressure of my boot against the footrest.

When our pace was less dizzying, I ventured a look backward. The lieutenant appeared to be breathing. Then I glanced upward. What I saw made my stomach clench. The birds had risen into an enormous cloud, so large it blocked the late afternoon sun. This cloud pursued us.

The vehicle jostled alarmingly, shaking me about. _This portion of the carriageway must be quite uneven._ I directed my eyes toward the front again. _By the saints!_

While I was looking behind me, the automobile had departed the carriageway and now careened across the yard toward a rapidly-approaching tree. I jerked the wheel hard to the left, to avoid it. My heart pounded as the vehicle rocked violently, as though it might tip sideways. As it settled again, I breathed a sigh of relief. I raised my boot slightly as I steered the vehicle back toward the carriageway, understanding, now, the lieutenant’s many and varied dialogues to other drivers, advising them to keep their eyes directed toward the road.

Finally, I could see the gate ahead. _Perhaps we may escape yet!_

But no… I took a closer look, squinting as I hoped that my eyes deceived me. Unfortunately, a closer look revealed the awful truth: I could see the lock and chain linking the two halves of the chain metal gate. It was locked.


	17. Chapter 17

Crane pov

_Damn Officer Brooks for locking the gate! Damn him to the hottest, most sulfurous corner of the underworld._

As I sped toward the gate, I tried to calculate the vehicle’s weight and the tensile strength of steel. _But, really, speed is the key, is it not? It is the only element in this equation I can control._

I pushed my boot against the right footrest again, until it pressed hard against the floor. The engine growled as the vehicle leapt forward.

My hands gripped the wheel so tightly that I could no longer feel them. I pictured, again, the dark cloud I had seen behind me.

_What will happen if the automobile fails to breach the gate? Will the vehicle spring backward? Or catch in the chained metal, trapping us?_

As we drew closer, I threw one arm across my face and braced the other against the wheel, grateful Ms. Mills would be relatively well-protected on the floor behind me. _I expect I shall have time to move the lieutenant to the trunk, before they are upon us.  Provided that I survive. And that I am able to determine how to open the trunk._

At the moment of impact, my head snapped forward, but less so than I had imagined (likely due to the flex of the metal links). I heard the engine roar as the automobile strained against the fence. A moment later, there was a loud crack and the tang of metal striking metal as we sped forward.

I ventured a swift glance behind us, then swallowed as I observed that the dark cloud seemed closer now. _Will the birds pursue us to the hospital? What then?_

I raised my boot slightly, to slow for the turn onto the road. It seemed days ago that we had come to this accursed place, in our futile attempt to rescue my wife. My former wife now, I supposed, given all our talk of releasing from vows. _There will be time to consider this later. Perhaps._

There was a bang and then the vehicle jostled alarmingly. I remembered, then, the many holes in this decrepit roadway. The growing darkness made them difficult to see. I cringed to think of how Ms. Mills must be knocked about by this impact. (Of course, I knew the vehicle possessed lanterns, but had not the faintest notion how to activate them and, in any case, was afraid to remove my hands from the wheel for even a moment.)

In the absence of the front window, the wind was very loud and blew so sharply that I had to squint to keep my eyes facing forward. Keeping the right footrest close to the floor, I considered the shortest route to the hospital.

A moment later, there was a flash of bright light. I glanced to both sides for its source, but dared not take my eyes from the road for more than a split second (having learnt my lesson, in that regard). Then I heard a sound that made my heart leap for joy.

“Dammit, Crane, what the hell am I doing on the floor?”

“Ms. Mills!”

I did turn around then, for a moment, to see her clambering onto the rear seat. She did not appear happy but not even this could dampen my joy to see her awake.

I turned forward and could not discern what she said next.

“I must entreat you to speak louder, due to the wind.”

“I said, thanks for throwing me on the floor back there, like a sack of potatoes!”

“I did nothing of the kind! Upon our return from Purgatory...” _How much should I divulge? It might be best not to upset her, presently, lest the distress prove injurious_. “You did not awaken. I carried you from the power plant and - with utmost care - placed you upon the rear seat. However, there was… an abrupt stop and you rolled onto the floor.”

“I’ve been asleep?”

“Yes, for some time. Judging from the daylight, we both slept for hours upon our return to the power plant.”

“I think I’m still asleep because I’m having the craziest dream. It’s like I’m in my car, only you’re driving it, we’re going ridiculously fast, and there’s no windshield.”

_Do not upset her; she may lose consciousness again._ “Perhaps I am capable of piloting a vehicle.”

“Ha! If you say so.”

I thought of arguing to attest my capabilities, then had a better idea. “So you believe yourself to be dreaming?”

“Obviously.”

“In that case, how do I stop this vehicle? And enable the lanterns?”

“See, now you proved I’m dreaming because Crane would rather chew nails than ask for help. He’s too proud.”

_Is that how she sees me? Proud?_ I considered protesting, but realized that I had more pressing concerns.

“Perhaps you _are_ dreaming as Ms. Mills is always most helpful, yet you have ignored my pleas for assistance.”

“Oh, sorry. I’m still kind of loopy. The lights are the knob on the handle and the brake is the pedal on the left.”

I pried one clenched hand from the wheel and touched the control she described. _Perhaps a clockwise turn, like the keys?_ I manipulated it carefully, thrilled to see one of the lanterns illuminate. “Thank you for your sound counsel.” I tipped the wheel slightly to avoid another hole in the road that the lantern had revealed.

“If this was real, right about now I’d be asking what’s wrong with my headlights. But since this is a dream, I’m going to let it slide.”

“A fine course of action." After a pause I said, "Are you well? I confess I am overjoyed to see you awake again."

“I feel ok, thanks... especially for someone just back from the dead. It's good to see you, too." I felt her hand lay against my shoulder for a moment.

"So where are we going? Maybe to the beach? If this is a dream, we can go anywhere, right?”

“Alas, we are only going to Sleepy Hollow General Hospital, in hopes they can determine the extent of your injuries.”

“What?” Even over the noise of the wind, I could hear the alarm in her voice. “No hospital, Crane. Seriously, NO.”

“I must disagree. Perhaps you require… an infusion of lidocaine… or to be held for observation.”

There was a pause. “Have you been watching doctor shows?”

“Perhaps a few.” I shrugged. “But my television viewing preferences do not change the fact that you require medical care.”

“I’m still paying off the repairs to my car from when we were possessed by the will-o-the-wisp demon. I can’t afford another big bill right now and hospitals are really expensive.”

The guilt I felt at her words was like a blow to the stomach. “Why did you not tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to feel bad. It was my own fault, anyway, because I offered to help you look for the watch.” I felt her hand on my shoulder again. It squeezed lightly, then moved away. “I’m a big girl, Crane. It’s OK. I’m using to dealing with bills and crap like that. You don’t need to worry about me.”

I wished I could see her face, but dared not turn around or slow the vehicle. “You were unconscious, Ms. Mills. Of course I worried.”

“See, this is why I don’t tell you about money stuff. It just causes problems.” Her voice rose. “If I stay awake, will you drop this dumb hospital idea?”

I considered her proposal, then nodded. “Fine."

“Fine.” I could hear the annoyance in her voice.

After a moment, she said, “So, as long as you won’t let me grab another nod, do you want to hear the crazy stuff that happened while you thought I was asleep?”

***

Abbie pov

“How can you be sure they were your parents?” He paused. “Not to imply that you would not know, of course; however, we have been deceived before.”

“My dad knew about car stuff - way more than I do, so he couldn’t have read my mind for the answer. Also, my mom remembered my teacher’s name from middle school and a bunch of details about this dumb project they made us do. She can’t have been reading my memory, because I’d forgotten all that.”

“Well done.” He nodded. “Did they offer any sage advice for defeating Moloch?”

“Not… really. It was more personal stuff.” _That I’m not sure if I’m going to talk to you about._ “Oh! And they had heard of the witnesses. They asked about you.” I reached forward and poked his arm.

“May I trust you described me as the brave and daring hero?”

“Actually, I did mention the sword fighting thing. Got to admit, that was kind of badass. I also told them about us rescuing Katrina.” _Ugh. Why did I say that? He must already feel terrible, about her cutting him loose with that releasing from vows stuff._

“Ah.”

Since Crane was in the front seat, I couldn’t see his face. But I was cringing inside.

I stared out the window in the awkward silence following my asinine comment. “Are we going to the cabin?”

“Yes… I hope you do not mind? It is closer and I was unsure of a route to your home that did not involve the ‘freeway’.”

“No problem.” _I guess I'll drive home from there… if I don't wake up first. Damn, this is a long dream._

“Might you be able to look behind us, to see if there is a sort of dark cloud?”

I looked back. “Nope. Don’t see a thing. Just the moon and stars… and a jet.”

“The cloud pursued us from the power plant, but perhaps the other vehicles have frightened it away.”

“Or maybe it was that bright light.”

“You saw that as well?”

“Yep. Right before I woke up. On the floor. Where someone threw me like an old shoe.” I smiled.

He turned back toward me, just a little. “I cannot see if you have your mischievous grin in place. Pray tell me you are joking?”

“I'm _mostly_ joking." I stretched a little. "And I'm also tired. Since we’re almost at your place, do you promise not to take me to the hospital if I close my eyes for just a second?"

“You have my word.” After a pause. “After stopping, by depressing the left footrest, should the instrument be returned to the P marker?”

“You got it,” I yawned. _This has to be a dream. Crane would never admit he doesn’t know everything._

***

“Ms. Mills?” Crane rubbed my arm. “Ah, you are awakening.”

“Is it morning already?” _Then why is it dark?_

“It is still evening. We have arrived at the cabin.”

Crane was leaning over me, where I lay in the back seat. When I sat up, he stepped backward. I yawned and stretched, feeling like I had been sleeping for a week… and could go right on for another one.  I reached for my phone, to check the time, then decided I’d rather not know.

“Well, guess I’d better be getting home.” Things spun a little bit as I climbed out of the car. I braced my hand against the door while I waited for them to settle down.

“Are you certain that is wise?” Crane put his hand on top of the door. The moon must have gone behind a cloud because I could barely make out his features.

“Yeah, I’m OK. Just been a long day.” He - and the rest of the world - tilted sideways as I said it.

“If it is not too gross an impropriety, would you consent to remain here?” His hand on the car door flexed. “When you did not awaken, I was most concerned. It would greatly allay my fears if I could ascertain that you do not lose consciousness again… particularly whilst you are piloting your automobile.”

I had to admit, he kind of had a point. In addition to feeling dizzy and tired, I also couldn’t figure out how we had gotten here. I assumed Jenny must have been involved somehow… but then why were we in my car? It didn’t make any sense. _Maybe I’m still half-asleep_.

“Are you sure you don’t mind? I hate to impose.”

“Far from an imposition, it is an honor.” In the darkness, I felt his hand brush mine.

***

I had it all planned out about how I was going to take a shower and ask to borrow some pajamas. Instead, I sat down on the sofa - just for a minute - then the next minute, Crane was standing over me shaking my shoulder again.

“Ms. Mills?” He sighed as I opened my eyes.

“Is everything ok?"

"Yes, merely verifying that you remain conscious."

The first time he woke me, I thought it was nice how he was concerned. The second time, I felt halfway between warm fuzzies and starting-to-be-annoyed. The third time, I was pissed.

"I promise I'm not going back to la-la land again so will you please quit waking me up?" From the way the sun streamed through the windows, it looked like late morning.

He held out my phone. "I believe Ms. Jenny attempts to contact you."

I mouthed "sorry" as I took the phone from his hand. He nodded, then I saw him head toward the kitchen. I hoped he was making coffee.

"Hey baby sis."

"Hey... you ok there? Crane was telling me about the wonder twins’ big adventure yesterday. It sounded like the spell worked?"

"If you call doing exactly the opposite of what it was supposed to do working. Instead of getting Katrina out of Purgatory, it took us there!"

"And from there, you eventually got her out, right."

"Well... yes."

"Like I said, it worked."

I huffed. "I suppose."

"Are you really tired and dizzy today?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Purgatory affects us mortals that way sometimes. You'll feel better in a few days."

"I'll tell Irving I've got the flu or something. You ok?"

"Yep. Still hunting for the magical doohickey I came here for."

_What?_ "Then how did you rescue us?"

"Sorry, not following."

"How did we get out of the power plant and back to the cabin? I just assumed it was you."

Crane stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. His expression could only be described as, "oh, shit."

"Nope, been here the whole time. I promise."

I climbed up from the sofa and started toward the door, not even bothering to put my shoes on. Crane darted toward me. He put his hand on my arm and I thought I heard him say something about explaining.

"Maybe you should ask Crane what happened."

I shrugged his hand away as I flung the front door open... and saw my car in the driveway. Actually, it was more like what was left of my car.

The windshield was completely gone and the whole front end was dented in, like it had run head-on into a wall. There appeared to be some sort of dark stains all over the body. My legs felt like rubber as I stumbled down the front steps. I heard Crane behind me saying, "Ms. Mills!" and some other stuff that didn't even register.

As I got closer, I could see that what I thought were stains on the body of my car were actually dents. Hundreds and hundreds of them all over. Like the car had been in a hailstorm. And the hail had been fired out of a gun. I ran my hand across the cold metal of the roof, feeling the holes beneath my fingertips. There were so many.

For some reason, the front bumper caught my eye. It looked so... sad, or something, the way it was hanging sideways. I slipped my phone into my pocket as I knelt in front of the car and began lifting the side of the bumper that was hanging. I noticed Crane, then. His hands were beside mine, holding the bumper steady as I felt for the bolts that would affix it in place.

As we stood up, slowly, it seemed to hold. _Maybe this will be OK. We’ll figure something out, just like we always do._ I glanced at Crane. He gave me a small, nervous-looking smile. _I’m going to need an explanation of exactly what happened to my poor car, though._

Just then, there was scraping sound, followed by a thud as the bumper fell from the car onto the gravel driveway.

I watched as the bumper rocked sideways once, then came to a stop. From there I allowed my eyes to travel to my car. The one that, as of just last month, I no longer had a payment for. I looked - really looked - at the caved-in front end, the hundreds of dents all over the body. _How would you even start to fix all those? Is there enough Bondo putty in the world? The front end might be a cracked frame._ _Dad always made a “ka-ching” sound when he talked about one of those coming into the shop._ Feeling tears start to well up, I bit the inside of my lip.

I felt Crane’s hand on my sleeve and glanced up at him. Bad idea. Y _ou son of a bitch, you do not get to give me that sorry expression when you are the one who created this problem that I'm about to lose my shit over. Don’t you dare make me feel things when I’ve got every right to be pissed at you._ I blinked rapidly, realizing I was fighting a losing battle.

“Ms. Mills, I-”

Jerking my arm away, I ran for the house. I had to hold on to the stair rail and then the wall, as the world tipped sideways and then spun around me.

The bathroom door made a satisfying slam, as I threw it closed behind me. I held on to the counter by the sink for a minute, to steady myself, then turned the shower on full blast. I sat carefully on the edge of the tub, hoping that the noise of the water would drown out my crying.


	18. Chapter 18

Abbie pov

_Why is my jacket shouting at me? Oh God, Jenny is still on the phone!_

I fumbled for my pocket. “Hey. I’m sorry, there was a bunch of drama, here.”

“Sounded like it. Are you OK?”

“Yeah, just…” I took a deep breath. “Cranewreckedmycar.”

“What?! But I was just talking with him a few minutes ago.”

“It happened sometime after we got back from Purgatory, while I was asleep."

“But he’s OK?”

“Um… he seems OK.” I was too embarrassed to admit I hadn’t asked if he was hurt because I was busy freaking out about my car. “You should see the car Jenny. I think it’s totaled.”

“If the car is in that bad of shape, you’re lucky Crane wasn’t hurt.”

“I guess.”

“You can get another car. Not so sure about another witness.” This conversation wasn’t going the way I had meant it to. I wanted sympathy and instead I was getting a big load of guilt.

“Sure, I’ll just go buy another car with all this spare cash I have lying around!” I immediately regretted the sarcastic way I said it. “Sorry - didn’t mean for that to come out like that.”

“It’s OK,” she said. “I know you’re upset.”

Neither of us said anything for a minute. I sniffed as I reached for a tissue to wipe my eyes.

“You guys are both still in one piece and you got Katrina out. To me, that sounds like a successful mission.”

“But my carrrr! It was paid forrr!” I whined.

I heard Jenny sigh. “Do you want my opinion?”

“I don't know. Do I?" From the way she said it, I suspected I wasn't going to like it.

“Probably not.”

“Well, definitely, let's hear it then." I grimaced.

“The prophecy is about two witnesses. Not two witnesses and their beige chariot."

"My car’s not beige! It's smoky ecru."

"Fine. The ecru beigemobile. Whatever." She sighed. "I totally understand that it sucks to have to buy a new car but I think you have to chalk this up to a trial and/or tribulation, take your pick. What it’s not is the end of the world. Only the end of the world is the end of the world.”

“But I just paid it off last month, Jenny! Now I'm going to have a freaking car payment again! And all because Crane was…” _What was he doing, anyway?_ I realized I had no idea. “...joyriding or something. When I woke up, he had to be going close to 100."

"And he kept doing it when you were awake? Wow, that was sneaky of him."

"I thought I was dreaming because the situation was so weird. And he knew it and let me go right on thinking that!" I knew I was right in this one teeny part. Crane definitely hadn't corrected me when I said I thought I was still asleep.

“You guys just got out of Purgatory, so he celebrates by spontaneously learning to drive and then doing high-speed doughnuts while you're asleep. Really?”

That didn’t sound very plausible to me, either, but was in no mood to admit it. “Why do men do any of the weird crap they do?” I huffed.

After a pause, Jenny said, “It’ll be OK. You’re Miss Responsible. You won’t have any trouble getting a loan for a new car.” I understood the part she wasn’t saying: it’s different when you’ve got a history of arrests and commitments to the psych ward. Now I really felt like dirt.

“Once I round up the magical doodad, I’ll probably have some extra cash. If you need some help with a down payment, I could-”

“That’s OK,” I said quickly. I wasn’t low enough to take money from my baby sister; money she might have risked her life for. (That reminded me I still needed to talk with Irving about helping Jenny find a job at the precinct. _I’ll ask him after I get over this ‘flu’_.) “But thanks, Jenny.”

This seemed like a good place to change the subject, which I was dying to do. “I saw Mom and Dad on the way back from Purgatory. They asked how you’re doing.”

“They’re in Purgatory?”

“I don’t think so. Mom said it was the ‘Other Side.’ Seemed a lot nicer than Purgatory. They both looked good and seemed like they were OK."

After a pause, Jenny said, "Crane said his wife didn't come back with you guys. How's he doing?"

_Shit. Something else I hadn’t bothered to ask Crane. Maybe I can return the question?_ “How did he sound when he told you what happened?”

“Hmm… kind of matter-of-fact, I guess. I was surprised because I figured he’d be more upset. How does he seem, to you?”

I was trying to think of a way to cover the fact that I had no clue how Crane felt when there was a knock on the bathroom door.

“I can guess who that is,” Jenny said.

“So not looking forward to this conversation," I groaned, but I was actually more than ready to escape from Jenny's way-too-accurate ability to see through my bullshit.

“I’m not going to make a habit of advocating for English but… just this once… will you let him explain what happened? It sounds like there’s more to the story.”

_That seems fair. I’d kind of like to know, too._ “OK. He gets tell his side.”

And Abbie?"

"Yep?"

"I really am sorry about your car."

After we said our goodbyes, I put my phone back in my pocket and splashed cold water on my face. Now I not only felt miserable about my car but, thanks to my conversation with Jenny, also felt like a terrible person for feeling that way.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the sink and noticed how red and puffy my eyes were. _Maybe I can wring some sympathy out of Crane, at least._

I took a deep breath and opened the door. Crane jumped back a little, then looked at me like he wasn’t sure what I was going to do. He was holding the I heart NY mug.

“I bring you my humblest apologies and this meager peace offering.” He held the mug toward me.

It was coffee, of course. “Thanks.” I took the mug and sat down on the edge of the bathtub again. The coffee was a little bit burned, not perfect like it usually was. _He must be really rattled if he's off his coffee game. Poor guy... No! Poor nothing! He wrecked my damn car!_

His hands flexed a few times, as I looked up at him. “May I sit down?”

I gestured toward the space beside me, on the edge of the tub.

He sat down slowly at the other end of the tub, as far away from me as possible. He gave me a small, nervous-looking smile. “You likely wonder what transpired with your vehicle.”

_Props for getting right to the point. Not that it will change anything. Or make me not have a freaking car payment again._ “Yeah, that would be kind of nice to know.” I let sarcasm creep into my voice.

“Upon our egress from the power plant, a new foe awaited us in the courtyard: an enormous flock of unusually large birds.”

“Oh God!” I smacked my free hand against my forehead as I remembered what I kept forgetting to ask him. “These birds - were they black with red-”

“-eyes.” We both said at the same time.

“Dammit! I saw one of those at Jeremy’s grave and then another one when we first got to the power plant. I meant to ask you about them but you kept distracting me.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His brow furrowed. “ _I_ distracted _you_?”

“Yes, you were being very… distracting.” I waved my hand. “Anyway, you were saying about my car?”

“Ah, that. Yes. Upon our exit from the power plant, we were beset by hundreds of the black birds, all driving their beaks into the glass and metal encasing of your vehicle.”

I thought of the long, sharp beak of the bird I’d seen at Jeremy’s grave and shivered.

“As you were unconscious, it fell upon me to implement a plan. Since you had shewn me your phone was inoperative, your automobile seemed the only plausible means of escape. In order to pilot the vehicle, it became necessary to… improvise.” He winced as he said the last part.

“Improvise. You mean pretend like you know how to drive?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, sighed, then met my eyes. “The birds had broken through the windscreen, Lieutenant. What would you have had me do?”

I had planned on asking the questions in this conversation, so I didn’t have an answer for that. “Maybe leave me in the power plant while you went for help?”

“No,” he shook his head briskly. “I should never have forgiven myself if I had left you and something had happened.” His hands were tight fists against his thighs.

“Someone - Officer Brooks, I presume - had locked the gate whilst we were in the power plant. I believe the bulk of the damage occurred when it became necessary to force our exit…” he swallowed, “...using your automobile.”

“Crane…” I shook my head, not even sure what I wanted to say. It didn’t sound like I could have done any better, if I’d been in his shoes… but that didn’t bring my car back.

We sat there in uncomfortable silence for a moment, then Crane spoke again.

“I confess had not particularly considered the extent of damage to your vehicle until you brought it to my attention as, until then, my sole concern was for your safety.” He placed his hand lightly on top of my hand that rested on the edge of the bathtub. His fingers felt warm against mine. “When you awakened, I did not inform you what had happened as I feared the shock might cause you to lose consciousness again. I do not apologize for this particular deception as I would do it again in a moment, to protect you.”

His eyes burned into mine as he said the last part and my heart stuttered in my chest. I looked at our hands where they rested together on the slick white porcelain. His hand completely enveloped mine.

“I am most grievously sorry; however, for the monetary hardship occasioned by my actions. I realize, now, that I have been grossly remiss by permitting you to fund my living, since I have been in this time. To correct this error, I shall begin to seek gainful employ as soon as you are recovered.”

I looked up again as I felt my jaw drop. “Does that mean you’re going to get a job?”

“The very thing.” He gave me a small smile. “The nearby tavern has a notice that they are in need of additional staff. The location is an easy walk from here and, although I know nothing of innkeeping, I am confident I could learn.”

“The tavern… do you mean the diner?”

“Ah. Perhaps that is what it is called. Nancy’s.”

We had been there a bunch of times. (They had good pie.) I think they’d had that “Waitstaff Wanted” sign in the window since Corbin and I used to go there.

Crane waiting tables. I had to process that one for a minute.

“That could… actually work.” I ran my fingertip around the rim of my coffee mug as my mind worked. “I bet Irving or Jenny would know someone who could get you a Social Security number and all that stuff.”

“May I trust you would permit me to donate my wages to fund the repair of your vehicle, or purchase of a new one?”

I started to feel excited. “Well, I couldn’t take all of it, obviously. But if you could chip just in a little, it would really help.” _Maybe this can shorten my time in car payment hell. With Crane’s beautiful manners and perfect memory, he’ll be a fantastic waiter._ “I wouldn’t be surprised if you make more than I do, with tips.”

_Oh man, tips._ I remembered that part from the short time I’d waitressed in college. Crane would learn really quick that he could make more if he flirted with the customers. At this thought, something seemed to clench inside me.

_Maybe we need to think this through some more._ “But… are you sure you want to do that? I mean, won’t it take time away from witness stuff and translating and, um, … other things you do?” _Like watching baseball with me. And going out for pie at 4 in the morning._

“My television viewing time may have been inching upward, of late.” He smiled, looking slightly embarrassed. “I would benefit from its reduction.”

In my head, I could see Crane on the job, picking up a check from one of the tables at Nancy’s. There was a phone number on the back and a scribbled “Call me!” with a smiley face next to it. How long before he started calling those numbers (and I knew it would be numbers - plural). _And why not? He’s free now, isn’t he?_ I felt sort of sick.

“I don’t know, Crane. Waiting tables is really hard work. It might be too demanding.” _The witness thing comes first. I’m just being responsible, here._

He smiled then, a real smile. “You are far kinder than I deserve, Ms. Mills. Pray allow me to assist with these burdens you have been bearing by yourself for far too long. I assure you, I shall be fine.”

He leaned toward me. Reflexively, I closed my eyes and drew in a breath, as my lips parted. Crane’s beard tickled my cheek for a second, then I felt his lips there. They were whisper-soft and gone so quickly. I opened my eyes, to find him already looking at me. I couldn't figure out his expression; it sort of looked like he was puzzled.

My fingertips touched the place on my cheek where his lips had been, then I realized what I was doing and dropped my hand to my lap. Our eyes met for a second, then I looked at my coffee cup, pretending that swirling the coffee around in there was the most fascinating thing I’d ever seen.

I pictured Crane again standing by one of the tables at the diner. His back was partly to me, but I could tell he was laughing as he spoke to the person at the table. I could hear a woman’s voice, but couldn’t make out what she said. “I should be honored to meet you for a drink upon the conclusion of my shift.” He bowed slightly as he said it, being charming and all, making her feel special. _Can’t he ever turn that shit off?_

“Ms. Mills?” Crane looked worried as waved his hand in my line of vision. “Are you quite well?”

I gasped, then startled, splashing a few drops of coffee (which was cold, now) onto my pants leg. “I’m good.” With my free hand, I rubbed my forehead, trying to figure out why I felt so miserable. _Crane offered to help me get a new car. Shouldn’t I be happy?_

“You are certain? You seemed a bit… distracted, for a moment.”

“Really, I’m good.” _Just swell. Fan-freaking-tastic._ I took a sip of coffee, then felt myself make a face when I remembered it was cold.

Crane reached for my cup. “Would you care for more coffee? I expect the pot remains fresh.”

“Actually...” I handed him the mug. “If you wouldn’t mind if I take over the bathroom for a while, I think I’m going to take a bath.” The bathtub we were sitting on was one of those deep, old-fashioned kinds. The thought of hot water up to my neck sounded great, right now.

“Of course.” Crane nodded, but didn’t move, so I stood up.

“Well, I guess I’ll just…” I gestured toward the bathtub.

When he was sitting and I was standing, I was a little bit taller than him. He looked up at me and I noticed his hair was untied and had fallen over one eye. Not thinking, I reached over to push it back. My hand lingered as I felt the silky strands twine between my fingers. _Damn, Crane’s hair is soft._ He closed his eyes and drew in a breath as I tucked it behind his ear.

Crane opened his eyes and I noticed the puzzled expression again.

He stood up. “May I assist with your coat?” he said softly.

_Huh?_ “Um, OK.”

Crane set my coffee mug on the counter and motioned for me to turn around. When my back was toward him, I heard him take a step forward. _He’s standing so close to me. If I turned around right now, I’d practically be in his arms… only I’m not going to do that. Not going to think about doing it either._

As I shrugged my jacket over my shoulders, Crane’s fingertips brushed my collarbones. I felt him hold the collar of the jacket, then slowly draw it downward as I withdrew my arms. “Thanks.” I whispered, not sure why I was talking so softly.

When I turned around to face him again, he had my jacket draped over one arm and his other hand stroked the soft leather. His eyes had a hooded look as they met mine. “Do you require further assistance?’

“What kind of assistance?” I looked up at him from under my eyelashes, trying to figure out where this was going… or where I wanted it to go.

Something seemed to break the spell then, as Crane blinked a few times, and his hand that was holding my jacket flexed. “My apologies.” He bowed, then stepped backward, bumping into the doorframe. “I merely meant, if you feel faint again, pray do not hesitate to call upon me, as I shall remain nearby.” His cheeks were bright pink, above his beard. It was adorable.

I let out the breath I wasn’t aware I’d been holding. “It’s ok. I knew what you meant.” After a moment, he returned my smile and his shoulders relaxed.

“In that case, I shall…” he pointed toward the kitchen, then scooted out the door, closing it behind him with a soft click.

***

The bath actually wasn’t one of my better ideas as it was giving me too much time to think. Even the hot water couldn’t seem to make my muscles relax. I rolled my shoulders, trying to relieve the tension.

Crane’s idea about getting a job still gnawed at me. _He’ll have to learn to use the cash register… and credit cards! Those will totally freak him out._ But part of me knew I was grasping at straws.

Like a bad movie, the scene I’d imagined of Crane laughing as he spoke with the customer at Nancy’s began to replay in my head. Because that wasn’t making me feel horrible enough, the scene changed and I saw Crane getting out of a car (which looked way fancier than mine… although that was true of pretty much all cars, at the moment). It was dark but I could see, in the moonlight, as he walked around to open the driver's door and put his hand in, to help someone out. I heard a woman’s voice again.

Next, they walked up a path toward a generic-looking house. From the way Crane was walking, I could tell they were holding hands. When they reached the front door, Crane said something that I couldn’t hear, then I heard the woman giggle. (For someone who didn’t exist, it was amazing how much I was starting to dislike Diner Chick) There was a pause and I saw Crane lean over. He put his arm forward, like he was wrapping it around someone and then-

“No!” I shouted. Out loud. _Shiiiit._

I could hear running footsteps followed by a knock on the door and Crane’s voice, sounding worried, “Ms. Mills! Are you well?”

“I’m OK, Crane, thanks.” I covered my face with my hands.

“You are certain? I heard your voice.”

“Yeah, I was just, um… singing?”

There was a pause. “This did not sound like singing.”

“It was a different kind of singing. Modern. You probably haven’t heard it before.”

“I believe I prefer your usual singing, as you have a beautiful voice.”

“Thanks.” I felt my face grow warm and I closed my eyes as I felt pleasure wash over me, from his compliment. “Maybe I’ll branch out from singing for cats and horses and sing for you sometime.”

“I should love that.”

My eyes were still closed and Crane’s voice sounded like it was right next to my ear. (He must have been standing close to the door.) It had a husky sound that did something to me.

He made an “ahem” sound, then said, “You are certain you do not require assistance.”

Any other time, I would have said I was fine, thanks. If I hadn’t just been thinking all that stuff about Crane’s dream date with Diner Chick, I’m sure that’s what I would have said. _He’s about to leave me anyway. Screw it._ “Assistance with what?”

There was a long pause and I started to wonder if I had screwed up. “With. Your. Bath.” He said it so softly I wasn’t sure if I heard right.

I kept my voice light, so I could play it off as a joke, in case I misheard. “I’m actually having a little trouble reaching my back. Maybe you could help me out with that?”

There was another pause, and I thought I heard him take a breath. “Of course, at first I am too transfixed by your beauty to move.”

_Oh my God!_ “But then… I take your hand and pull you closer as I place the soap in your palm.”

After a pause, Crane continued. “As I kneel beside the bathtub. I take a moment to appreciate the graceful contours of your shoulders and perfect bosom, partially revealed by the water. My hands are most gentle and most thorough as they smooth the lather over the velvet softness of your skin.”

I pushed down my disbelief in favor of imagining his beautiful hands stroking over my shoulders. “Then your hands move lower.”

“The lather feels slippery as my hands trace the delicate lines of your collarbones, then downward over your bosom, to caress your perfect breasts.” There was a pause in which I thought I could hear Crane breathing (but it was hard to be sure, through the door.) “The pads of my thumbs rub their stiffened peaks as I lean forward, to press my lips against the cord at the side of your throat. Have you any notion how mesmerizing this cord is?”

“I arch my back, to encourage you, then I turn toward you, trying to find your lips.” I said it quickly, before I had time to overthink it… or give him time for too much thinking, either.

“I take my leisure, moving upward from your throat, to brush my lips against your jaw, the tender place beneath your ear, then finally our lips touch, in a kiss.” I noticed how quickly he answered me. _Maybe he has the same idea about not giving ourselves time to consider this insanity._

“Your beard tickles my skin as we kiss. I nibble your lower lip, just a little bit, until you open your mouth for me.”

“I am shy, at first, and my tongue brushes against yours hesitantly. I grow bolder when I hear you sigh and feel your soft breath against my cheek. As I explore your sweet mouth, one hand continues to offer an homage to your magnificent bosom while the other hand ventures lower, over the velvet softness below.”

He pronounced ‘homage’ the French way, kind of like ‘omajh”. _I wonder if he would speak French, if I asked him to._ I bit the inside of my lip, then moved my hand lower, beneath the water. “I push my hips upward and move my knees a little bit apart, hoping you’ll take the hint.”

There was a long pause. _Shit. Did I go too far?_

“Crane? Are you OK.” I sat up, drawing the tops of my thighs against my chest.

“Ms. Mills, pray tell… what are we doing?” he said softly.

I swallowed. “Open the door and we’ll figure it out,” I said it fast, before I lost my nerve.

From the other side of the door, I heard a strangled-sounding groan, followed by the sound of feet running, then the front door slammed.

The bathwater was lukewarm by now and I shivered as I leaned forward to rest my forehead against my knees.

A few minutes after the front door slammed, I heard the sound of chopping wood outside. Finally, I got why Crane had a stack of firewood taller than I was. _Poor Crane_.

_Did that really happen?_ My mood was quickly changing from turned on to embarrased… which was so wrong. _Crane was into it just as much as I was. If anything, he started it._

If my car had been drivable, this would definitely be the part where I threw my clothes on and made a clean getaway. On Monday, I could pretend like nothing happened/it was a joke/whatever the excuse of the day was.

Instead, I was stuck here. I jumped as I heard the “thwack” of Crane’s axe. _He really seems to be taking something out on those logs._

_Besides, if I run out now, would that be kind of like I'm… afraid?_ I thought of my mom and dad’s words. _Maybe they had a point? But afraid of what, exactly?_

I didn’t have an answer for that one, and the bathwater was getting cold fast.

The room was spinning a little bit, so I was careful getting out of the tub. After drying off, I was about to put my gross, dirty clothes back on, when I noticed a plaid bathrobe hanging on the back of the door. It smelled like Crane (i.e., delicious). I buried my face in it for a second, before slipping it on. _I’ll borrow this just long enough to do laundry. I’m sure Crane won’t mind. Hell, I doubt he’ll even notice, in all the awkwardness that’s going to happen when he comes back inside._

As I was loading my clothes in the washer, I thought of Jeremy and Katrina, and wondered if they made it back. _Maybe I can find something about them online, on some historical records site or other? A distraction could help smooth over the awkwardness, too._

I got my phone from the pocket of my jacket, then poured myself another cup of coffee from the pot on the stove. I sat down at the table, then Googled “Jeremy Crane”. After scrolling through a few pages of the usual Facebook/LinkedIn stuff, I tried “Katrina Crane”. Same results.

I drummed my fingers on the wooden tabletop. _If Katrina went back in time, Jeremy never would have gone to the orphanage. And maybe his watch wouldn’t have wound up underneath the floor of Mr. Taylor’s barn._

A search for “Antiques Roadshow” quickly found the episode that Crane’s old watch had appeared on. I fast-forwarded the video to the part with the Victorian doll, and waited for the segment with Crane’s watch to appear… only it never did. There was some butt-ugly pottery that I didn’t remember from the show before, then baseball memorabilia, a gun collection… then the credits rolled.

_When Crane and I watched the show before, hadn't the watch been on right after the doll? Was my memory wrong… or had something changed in the past?_ A chill went up my spine.

_Probably I’m just remembering wrong_. I took a sip of coffee then started the video again from the beginning. The opening credits had just finished when I got a “Data Limit Warning” text.

_Videos use a lot of data, don’t they? I better wait and watch the whole show when I get home._ I stopped the video, then got up to check on my laundry.

As I was moving my clothes to the dryer, I felt like I was missing something, like the answer was right in front of me, but I couldn’t see it.

_Think like a profiler (which is what I’d be right now if it wasn’t for Crane.) Did he ever do anything but complicate my life?_

If the TV show had changed, that meant Katrina and Jeremy _might_ have made it back to 1780… where they’d be on the run from powerful enemies. When you’re on the run you either fight or hide. And if you hide, you need... an alias.

I felt my heart start to beat faster as I hurried back to the table and grabbed my phone. _What was the last name of Crane’s relatives he told Katrina about right before we left Purgatory. Jeremy Wolcote? Woolcoat?_ I googled as fast as my thumbs could go, trying different spellings and clicking Ignore for the data usage warnings as they popped up.

_Walcott?_ I was running out of ideas. As I typed the latter, Google helpfully asked if I meant Jeremy Wolcott. The Wikipedia article about him was the very first hit on the page.

I felt a little bit nervous, as I started reading. _What if something terrible happened to him? How will I tell Crane?_ Then, as I continued reading, my hands were shaking so much, that I almost dropped my phone. _Crane has to see this._

I shoved my feet into my boots, not bothering to tie them, then darted out the front door.

"Crane!" I yelled.

 


	19. Chapter 19

Crane pov

When the lieutenant bade me enter, I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Despite my efforts to calm my nerves, my heart hammered in my chest as I moved my hand toward the doorknob. As I grasped the knob, I suddenly pictured the lieutenant’s face after she found the letter, her stricken look as the paper fluttered from her fingers followed by her hurried exit. My memory then replayed our conversation the next day, in which she referred to it as a “joke”.

_You do not want my love… but you would have me?_ Of course, I was familiar with such sport, prior to my marriage. But I also knew with complete and utter certainty that I lacked the requisite detachment to enter into such an arrangement with the lieutenant. My hand released the doorknob, and moved slowly away.

Of course, I desired nothing more than open the door and kiss Ms. Mills until we both gasped for breath. From there, perhaps there might be room for two in the bath. Later still, she might permit me to dry her lush curves, then carry her to my bed and make love to her as I had longed to do for months, bringing her to ecstasy until she was sated.

And then what? Tell her of my love for her, that she might stare at me in horrified silence again?

I turned around and stumbled from the house.

***

_What are we doing?_ A considerable quantity of split wood later, I found myself no closer to an answer.

Obviously, the thought of becoming Ms. Mills’ lover offered vast appeal. I recalled her sultry voice on the other side of the door as she as she described my hands on her beautiful dark skin, her bosom… and elsewhere, and our lips moving together. As her voice replayed in my memory, I felt the source of all this trouble begin to stir again in my breeches. _Had it learnt nothing in 200 years?_

I settled another log on its end on the chopping block, then paused for a moment to catch my breath.

_How would this play out? Would we go on pursuing monsters by day, now also joining our bodies by night?_ I imagined holding the lieutenant as she sighed and trembled in my arms, knowing each tender moment sent me plummeting deeper and more irrevocably in love with her and she regarded me as a mildly amusing pastime, for those interminable evenings when television programming was lacking. (I believed the term was “friend with benefits”.)

I grimaced as I thought the last. _Was I spared for two centuries for unrequited love?_ Raising my arms above my head, I directed my frustration into propelling the axe downward, cleaving the log with a loud crack.

Meanwhile how should I react when she “dated” other suitors who were found worthy of her affection? My hands clenched the axe handle as I thought of her giggling on the telephone with Sergeant Baker or of Morales' arm draped casually over her shoulders. _If she returns to him, I shall take to drink._ As the lieutenant and her new love grew together, we would drift apart until our partnership was a working one only. Instead of bearing this with proper grace, my attempts to cling to her would grow increasingly desperate, like my ill-placed attempt at seduction today ( _Bawdy talk in a washroom? How gentlemanly._ ) until the lieutenant utterly despised me.

I wiped my brow with my sleeve as I imagined her giving me a look of annoyance or, worst of all, pity.

Which brought me ‘round, finally, to another certainty: the lieutenant’s friendship was my salvation in this time, her faithful companionship my respite. Did I dare begin a physical liaison with her knowing its result would eventually drive Ms. Mills away from me forever? I began to feel myself drawing to a conclusion, but it was not a place I desired to go.

Wishing to distract myself, I reached for another log… to find my supply depleted. The product of my labors - the many split logs - lay scattered around my feet. _It has been a productive morning for kindling. And the day is still young._

I leant the axe against the chopping block and began to gather up the split logs, to stack them into the woodpile. _Or perhaps I miss the point entirely and simulated lovemaking is a bizarre modern custom… similar to texting. And twitter. And twerking. And other words that make no sense._ This thought made me feel very antiquated.

I was reaching for more kindling to stack when I heard the front door open with a bang.

“Crane!” The lieutenant emerged, wearing my dressing gown. “You have to see this!” I felt my face grow hot, as I recalled my shameful actions with her, and I pretended I was busy stacking kindling.

She grabbed my arm. “We can deal with the weirdness later. You need to read this.” She held her phone toward me.

Not putting down the kindling I held, I squinted at the phone. (It was difficult to read in the bright sunlight.) _Why does she show me this?_

“Ah. I see you have received a warning as to data limit. Clearly, you should not take this lightly.” I turned away to continue building the woodpile. I feared my cheeks were still aflame and did not wish her to see.

She growled. “Not that! This! Look!” She pulled at my arm as she held the phone toward me.

“Is it not obvious that I am busy?” I huffed as I finished stacking the kindling. Then I carefully took the phone from her hand and began to read.

> Jeremy Wolcott (1779?– 1871) was an English painter. He rose to prominence as a painter of horses, then their owners. His work is well regarded as a fine example of naturalist style.
> 
> **Early Career**
> 
> Wolcott was raised as the ward of Horace and Patience Wolcott of Sussex but his actual parentage and birth name remain a mystery. He seems to have joined the Wolcott family in early childhood and rapidly became the object of their affection. A surviving letter from Horace Wolcott to their parish vicar expresses, "joy that Mrs. Wolcott and I, like Sarah and Abraham of biblical times, have been blessed with a child, after these many years."

I read the passage again, hardly daring to believe it. “This must be my son. Do you not agree?” My hand trembled as it touched the lieutenant’s arm. “The names and dates dovetail perfectly. That, combined with my son's penchant for drawing points to more than mere coincidence."

"That's kind of why I showed it to you." she smiled. "In case you were wondering if I just developed a sudden interest in old paintings of horses. Anyway, keep reading." She leaned over my arm, to peer at the small screen as I did.

> His adopted parents nurtured their son's talent with a series of drawing tutors and a term at the Royal Academy Schools. A letter from Patience Wolcott to her sister Prudence Nesbitt describes her "excitement that our dear Jeremy desires to become a painter."

"Did you read that stuff about how your aunt and uncle encouraged him?" The lieutenant prodded my shoulder. "You made a good call, telling Katrina to take him there."

"My aunt and uncle were always kind to me. I hoped they might be equally kind to my own child."

> Wolcott’s earliest commissions were for paintings of the prized stock of other gentlemen farmers in Sussex, like his own adopted father. Wolcott first came to prominence when commissioned by Bernard Howard, then Duke of Norfolk, to create a portrait of the Duke’s racehorse, Cutty Wren. When Cutty Wren took the Ascot Gold Cup in 1798, Wolcott began to receive commissions for equine paintings from other prominent aristocratic racehorse owners. A fine example from this period, _Flying Dutchman_ , painted for the Earl of Darlington in 1805, is now in the National Gallery in London.

“Jeremy’s patrons were dukes. That is far above my family’s station.”

“I’m going to have to get you to explain how that title thing works sometime.  But not right now because my clothes are going to wrinkle in the dryer.” She gestured toward the house.

“May I accompany you indoors?” Without stopping to think, I put out my elbow. The lieutenant looked up me for a moment, as if deciding, then gave me a small smile and put her hand through my arm.  

***

> **Marriage and Maturity**
> 
> In September, 1801, Wolcott entered an engagement with Lady Emmalina Catherine Somerset, third daughter of the Marquess of Lansdowne. Scandal struck when he broke the engagement a month later, to marry a penniless artist's model, Maisie Smith. It is not known what caused Wolcott to spurn what would have been a stunningly successful match and his commissions suffered, for a time afterward, but gradually recovered.
> 
> His union with Miss Smith was, by all accounts, a successful one. Their first child was born a year after their marriage, followed by four more.

“That’s Maisie!” the lieutenant exclaimed, pointing to a painting of my son with his family. From Jeremy’s drawing, I recognized the woman’s mischievous grin and the lock of curly hair that peeked from beneath her bonnet. Their daughter, who stood beside Mrs. Wolcott in the portrait, had red hair and a more than passing resemblance to Katrina.

“How did he meet Maisie, if he wasn’t even in America?”

“Some mysteries are lost to time.” I shrugged. _Or perhaps some are meant to be together_.

“Hold up a minute.” The lieutenant leaned against me on the settee to touch the small screen with two fingers pinched together, then moved her fingers apart, magnifying the painting. One fingertip slipped sideways to focus the view to my son’s face. “Jeremy looks like you.  Well… he has your eyes. The rest is hard to tell, since he doesn’t have a beard.”

“Perhaps it was not the fashion in his time. Pity.” With my free hand, I rubbed my chin as I looked at the two blue eyes, so like my own, gazing back at me. _What emotion is behind them? Surely he must be content to have such a fine family and successful career?_

When the lieutenant’s hand moved away, I copied the motion she had made with her finger to drag the point of magnification around the painting.

“Is that what I think it is?” The lieutenant’s hand brushed mine as she dragged the viewpoint to the youngest boy’s hand… or, rather, the item it held.

“Ah. My timepiece… perhaps.” The lieutenant magnified the view again. The brushwork hinted at my monogram, but did not reveal details.

“You have sharp eyes, lieutenant.”

“It’s all those crime scenes.” The lieutenant’s fingertip tapped the screen twice, in rapid succession, and the magnification was removed. “Teaches you to look for stuff.”

> As demand for Wolcott’s work increased, his studio grew. In 1809, the family relocated to the fashionable Mayfair district in London, where he employed a team of 20 apprentices. During this period, Wolcott’s work transitioned from animal paintings to include portraits of their wealthy owners, such as _Lord and Lady Radnor._

I moved the screen downward to reveal a portrait of a lady and gentleman mounted on horseback in what appeared to be the courtyard before an estate. It was after my time, so I did not recognize the fashion of their riding clothes, but they appeared to be of considerable expense.

“Were paintings like this how you guys used to show off? This is like ‘look at my big house and my fancy horses.’”

I chuckled at how quickly the lieutenant had interpreted the meaning behind the painting. “There may have been some of that, yes.”

Another message regarding data limit appeared. The lieutenant reached over my arm, to tap it closed.

“Might I inquire if exceeding the limits of this data requires financial outlay?”

“A little bit but, it’s OK.” She shrugged.

“Ms. Mills, you must inform me when you are incurring obligations on my behalf. Will you permit me to dispatch this invoice, as soon as I have means?”

“It’s OK, Crane.” She patted my arm. “Just help me out with my car and we’re good.” The lieutenant arose from the settee. “I was going to make a sandwich… or something… depending on what you’ve got in the refrigerator. Do you want one… of whatever there is?”

“I believe there is chicken but do let me-” I moved to the edge of the cushion, but the lieutenant put her hand on my shoulder, holding me in place.

“No. Sit. I already read it and I promise I can manage a sandwich.” She smiled.

I considered protesting, then sat back again on the settee. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

As I studied my son’s works and read about the events of his life, I began to have a nagging feeling - almost like an itch - as if I missed something of import. I stopped reading for a moment, trying to determine what troubled my thoughts, but was unsuccessful. I continued reading, but the persistent itch remained.

> Wolcott’s later career brought success in his personal and private life. In 1850, he was granted full fellowship in the Royal Academy of Arts, where his lectures on equine and portrait techniques were well-received by students and patrons alike. _Henry, Felicia, and Baby Catherine_ , a fine example of his work from this period, depicts his oldest son’s family soon after the birth of Wolcott’s first grandchild.
> 
> On March 7, 1871, Wolcott was caught in a rainstorm while returning from his daily walk. That evening, he grew feverish. Over the next week, he continued to weaken until, surrounded by his family, he passed away on March 14. He was interred in St. Michael’s Church in West Sussex, beside his beloved mother and father. His work is exhibited in prominent museums on all continents save for Antarctica and continues to inspire contemporary artists.

Adjacent to the last paragraph was an image of my son’s grave. When I touched it gently with my fingertip, the small screen obediently magnified the photograph, enabling me to read my son’s adopted name, inscribed in the white marble, followed by “Beloved husband, father, and friend.” Someone had left a bouquet of flowers beside the headstone.

“Oh.” I said aloud, as I realized the thought that had escaped me, previously.

***

Abbie pov

Of course, it was a whole chicken (cooked, thank God!) instead of a brick of sliced lunchmeat I could slap on some bread and call it a day. I had found a knife and was trying to figure out where to start hacking away at the poor thing when I heard Crane’s soft “Oh.”

“You OK over there, Crane?” _Should I peel the skin off first? It looks all bumpy and gross. Maybe I should just rummage in the pantry to see if he has any ramen or cornflakes or something normal like that to eat instead?_

When Crane didn’t answer me after a minute, I looked up. His head was bowed. Because of how his hair fell forward, I couldn’t see his expression.

_This has been a lot for him to take in, hasn’t it?_ I walked over to the sofa and laid my hand on his shoulder. When he didn’t move or say anything, I rubbed softly. “You doing OK?” I whispered.

He looked up at me then and I could see the pain in his eyes.

“They have died,” he said softly. “My son and my wife… are gone.”

I sat down beside him on the sofa and put my arm around him. "I'm so sorry."

“On some ridiculous level, I still thought we could rescue him." He looked away as he squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought I might still know my son."

My hand rubbed circles on Crane's back. I could feel the muscles tense beneath my palm. "We did rescue him. He sounded like he had a very good life."

Crane sighed, then nodded. "Might I inquire..." His eyes were red and watery when he looked up at me. "...if he appeared happy? In your opinion?"

"Very happy." I nodded. "He was raised by people who loved him and it sounded like he loved his family, and vice versa. He was really successful, as an artist, too." I smiled just a little. "If I had my life that together, I'd be so happy I wouldn't even know how to act."

"Nor I." Crane gave a short, breathy laugh. "I am being very foolish, am I not?" He patted my hand that rested on my knee. "Thank you, Ms. Mills, as usual. Now, I shall see to luncheon."

He handed me my phone, then got up and walked to the kitchen.

I closed the browser and considered looking at my data minutes... but decided I'd rather not even know. _What the hell. It's just another bill... and chump change, compared to the car._

When I looked up again, there was a loaf of bread on the counter beside the chicken. Crane leaned into the refrigerator and I could hear things clattering around in there.

_Seems like he got over that kind of fast._ He was humming a song I didn't recognize and I wondered which of his lifetimes he remembered it from.

I noticed the new message flag on my phone and was just about to call my voicemail when I heard a soft sniffing sound. I peeked over at the kitchen again. Crane stood at the sink with his back to me.

I got up from the sofa and walked into the kitchen. He sniffed again, sort of more of a damp sound, this time.

I took another step forward, so I was right beside him. Slowly, I put my arms around him. "It's ok. It'll be ok."

He clasped my arm, like he was drowning, then turned toward me, bending forward into a question mark shape to wrap his arms around me, holding me tight.

"I am alone," he whispered, then sniffed again. I felt his chest convulse, like he had suppressed a sob.

"You still have me. We have each other." My hands petted the soft fabric at the back of his shirt.

"Pray do not leave me." His hands stroked my hair.

"Not planning on going anywhere.” _Maybe I’m right where I belong._


	20. Chapter 20

**Abbie pov**

Crane and I stood in the kitchen, with me rubbing his back while he held me to his chest and made sniffling sounds. I wanted to tell him it was ok to let it out but I wasn’t sure if crying was something men didn’t do in his time… or if that was just Crane.

After a while, the sniffling sort of tapered off. He gave me a small, extra squeeze, then made an “ahem” sound. He stepped backward, then turned toward the counter, where it looked like he was wiping his eyes. I glanced around me for something to do, so we could pretend I hadn’t noticed. Immediately, my eyes fell on… the chicken. _Ugh. There is no way in hell the Martha Stewart thing is happening today._ I tucked the aluminum foil around it again and put it back in the fridge. “OK if I order a pizza for lunch?”

“A superb idea.”

I could tell Crane never ordered because it was a huge deal to describe, to the lady who took my order, how to get to his house. Then, the delivery guy called again because he thought it was a mistake when the GPS showed the destination in the middle of the woods. (I gave him a big tip, for the hassle.)

When I opened the pizza box, Crane closed his eyes and made an “mmm” sound that made something flutter in my stomach. “That smells… indescribable.”

“Oh man! Don’t tell me we haven’t gotten pizza before?” I wracked my brain, trying to think of a time that we had… but couldn’t. “At least we’re starting with Gino’s. They’re pretty good.”

I removed a slice, lifting it slowly, so the gooey cheese fell onto the pie, then set it on my plate. I watched out of the corner of my eye as Crane copied me exactly. He rested his hands on the table and glanced at me, not quite meeting my gaze. I finally realized he was waiting to see what to do next. I gave him a small smile, then picked up the pizza slice with both hands, took a bite, then set it back on my plate. “Not bad.” I nodded.

Crane’s hands hovered over his plate like he wasn’t sure where to start. He prodded one of the pepperoni slices with his fingertip, like he was afraid it might attack him.

“It’s pepperoni. It’s good. I promise.” I took another bite, so he could see that whole process again.

He picked up a piece of cheese that had dripped to the side and made a face as he lifted it onto the pizza slice with his thumb and forefinger. Then, he lifted the slice with both hands, exactly as I had done (though he could have easily done it one-handed, because his hands are so huge) then took a bite. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched his expression change from “take your medicine” to “OMG!”

“This is good.”

“Told you.” My hand squeezed his shoulder as I walked by him to get us some sodas from the refrigerator. When I sat down again, he was working on his second slice.

After lunch, Crane asked me in some incredibly roundabout way, with tons of promises to reimburse me for “the usage of my data”, if he could borrow my phone to read about Jeremy some more. After I showed him how to use Google on the little screen, he sat on the sofa and went into his researching trance. (Occasionally, he called me over to look at one of Jeremy's paintings or show me something he read about him.)

While he was doing that, I used the landline to have an _incredibly fun_ conversation with my insurance about the damage to my car. (I said I was in a hailstorm and hit a small tree.) I don’t think the lady reporting the claim believed me, but she didn’t question me too much. Sometimes it pays to be a cop.

Of course, the word “totaled” came up about five minutes into the call. I started feeling dizzy again as she described all the stuff I needed to do and how much it was going to cost.

After we hung up, I really wanted to rest. Since Crane was on the sofa, I debated about napping in the chair. _Screw it. I’ve been to hell and back; I deserve a comfy nap._ I held on to the table as I got up, waiting for the room to stop wobbling. "If you don't mind, I'm going to go lie down for a little while.” I gestured toward Crane’s bedroom. “Things are kind of doing the loop-de-loop thing again."

"Of course. Forgive me for not offering." Crane hopped up from the sofa and wrapped his arm around my back, helping into the other room.

Anyone who saw Crane’s bedroom would know he’d been in the military because of how neat it was, with everything put away. The only hint that someone even lived there was the stacks of old books on the night table and the floor beside it. Crane sat down beside me as he lowered me to the bed (which was made so tightly I could have bounced a quarter off it), then unwrapped his arm from around me and moved to stand against the doorframe.

“Did you find out anything else about Jeremy?”

“A bit more about his life and works. There seems to be much to read.”

“Not surprising, since he accomplished so much.”

“Indeed.” Crane gave a look that I thought might be fatherly pride.

“I was thinking…” I fidgeted with a loose thread on the bedspread. “The Four Who Speak As One survived since your time. Maybe Katrina could have done something like that so she and Jeremy… might still be here?”

Crane sighed. “I have considered this, also. However, I attribute the survival of the Four and Reverend Knapp to evil enchantment resulting from their service to Moloch. I do not believe Katrina would employ these malevolent arts.”

I kind of had the same doubt, but was glad he said it instead of me. “That makes sense.” I nodded. “While we’re talking about your family, Jeremy and Maisie had five kids. That’s a lot of Cranes.”

“Or Wolcotts.” He shrugged.

“If you want, I could help you find them… or their descendants, I guess.” _Damn, Crane is a grandfather!_ “With all those kids, you must still have some family out there.”

“I should be most grateful, but…” his brow furrowed as his fingertips stroked his beard. “Should we delay this effort until the conclusion of our tenure as witnesses? Otherwise, I fear my family might become targets, should Moloch learn of their connection to me. Also, I have already monopolized a deal of your time in locating my family members.”

“It’s OK, Crane. We’re in this together.” I smiled. “And by ‘conclusion’ you mean after we win, right?”

“Of course. Forgive my misstatement.” Crane bowed slightly. After a moment, he said, "May I trust your vertigo improves?"

"It's not as bad as it was earlier, but Jenny said it might take a few days to go away."

“I do hope you will tell me if there is anything I can do to assist.”

He winced as he said the word “assist.” His cheeks flushed as I felt the awkwardness from this morning flood the room.

“I mean, if I may offer my _help_.”  His hands flexed rapidly as he gave me a small, embarrassed-looking smile.

“Thanks.” My face felt like it was on fire as I returned the smile (along with the embarrassment), then went to work on the loose thread again.

There was a moment of unbelievably awkward silence while I worried the thread within an inch of its life.

“I shall let you rest. Do let me know if there is anything you require.”

I heard his footsteps going away, while I continued to pick at the thread. _Better quit before it makes a hole._ I looked up when I heard the footsteps return.

“Perhaps this may serve? There is a bit of draft in here.” He held out the fuzzy blanket from the back of the sofa.

I took it from his hands and hugged it against my chest as we exchanged a (microscopically less awkward) smile. “Thanks, Crane.”

***

The bed was comfy and the blanket was fuzzy but my mind whirled with everything that had happened the past few days. I felt bittersweet about Jeremy because, even though it sounded like he had a great life, it was a life that hadn’t included Crane.

_Poor Crane._ I remembered how he'd held me and asked me not to leave. I knew he needed me, but I think that was the first time I'd ever heard him admit it.

_On the subject of first times... what the heck was going on with us in the bathroom, earlier?_ I felt warm again just thinking about it.

_He started that; then he ran away to hide in the woodpile?_ I shook my head; it didn’t make any sense.

_Maybe he’s afraid that he was too forward?_ That seemed plausible, based on how embarrassed he’d acted afterward and a minute ago. _In his time, you probably were betrothed or something before you even held hands, much less… whatever it was we were doing._ I guessed it was kind of like phone sex, only without the phone. _Kind of risqué, for someone from the eighteenth century. Or… maybe folks back then had to be creative, since they didn’t have reliable birth control? How else do you explain something as freaky as bundling?_

As I rolled over, I noticed the pillow smelled like Crane (sort of like the Walmart shampoo I’d gotten him and, underneath that, something spicy and then a tiny hint of something else that didn’t have a name but made my toes curl.) _This must be the side he sleeps on._ I looked at the empty expanse of bed beside me. _Room enough for two._

I took a deep breath. _Do I want… whatever the hell this is… to continue?_ I nestled my cheek against the smooth cotton, breathing in the delicious Crane smell as I remembered his deep voice and his accent as he described his hands caressing me and his lips on the sensitive spot on my neck. _Oh yeah, I’m down_.

I rolled over again. (The bed was plenty comfortable; I just couldn’t turn my brain off.)

_But how do I keep him from freaking out again?_ Maybe I needed to reassure him that we could keep things casual and it didn’t have to mean we were in a relationship or anything. _That’s probably it. Men are all about the casual, right?_

I swallowed as I recalled how tightly he’d held me when he’d asked me not to leave. _Didn’t seem very casual right then._

I rubbed my forehead. _He was just feeling vulnerable because he’s getting over a big loss. That takes time._ I remembered how alone I felt, after my family disintegrated.

_I would hate for Crane to feel like I did, back then. Maybe I should offer to hang around here more, in case he’s feeling bad or needs someone to talk to?_ I imagined us having dinner together after work (take-out, naturally). Afterward, we could read smelly old books or watch TV. I pictured us side-by-side on the sofa. Crane would pretend to read, but would keep glancing up at the cop show I was watching, until he gave in and put the book down. Sometime after that, he might put his arm around me, gently rubbing my shoulder and… well, I was definitely getting ahead of myself, wasn’t I? Besides, I didn’t want to rush him and have him freak out again.

I cuddled the blanket closer around me. _I actually have time to take a nap, for once, and I’m totally wasting it._ Closing my eyes, I tried to think about nothing… which lasted for about two seconds when I pictured my mom’s sweet face so far away at the end of the tunnel, telling me not to be scared.

I rolled over onto my back and looked at the logs that made up the ceiling. _If I’m just going to lay here and be bored, I might as well read_. I grabbed the book that was on top of the pile on the night table: _A Descriuen of Variouse Demons and Deofells_.

_Description of Demons and Devils, maybe?_ I opened it to the first page.

> Þes Bok descriuen Demons and Deofells fro ye sið of Adam and Eve tu Nao. Ye descriuens includen ye Demons' aparaunce, siche as here I-lete, Hares and Teethe, here Heythe and Gerth.  

_Something about Adam and Eve?_

> 3ou scel als kun of ye aparaunce of here Squames, Swarde and Fur and here atelich Beren Þanne Þei ben or assayen.

_What’s that thing that looks like a 3? I don’t even know._ I yawned.

> 3ou scel als kun of ye Geste of Deofells, ye Plasses thatte a-cennended thir bale and estre tai nao dennen.

_I really should learn this stuff. If Crane and my baby sister can plow through it, I can too._

> bale and estre tai nao dennen.

_Didn’t I read that already?_ I yawned again.

***

From the light coming through the windows, it looked like early evening when I woke up. “Ah. You awaken.”

“Yep. Still here.” I rolled over to see Crane in the chair beside the bed. He put a slip of paper between the pages of the book he held, then set it on the floor by the chair. “It’s sweet of you to be concerned, but I’m feeling a lot more normal now. I don’t think I’m going to do the comatose thing again.”

“Still, one worries.” He gave me a small, nervous looking smile. “Whilst you slept, I fear I may have depleted the battery resources of your phone.” He reached in his pocket, then laid my phone on the night table. “May I trust they can be repaired? Or am I indebted to you for the purchase of a new device?”

“That’s an easy one.” I moved the blanket off me, then sat up and stretched. “I think I have a charging cable in the glove box. It’ll be good as new in an hour or so.”

“You are certain of this?” His eyebrows knit together.

“Totally.” I reached over to pat his knee.

“As long as I am owning up to my misdeeds…” Crane took a deep breath. “I should like to apologize for my fit of blubbering earlier. I was-”

“Crane, no!” It came out louder than I meant. “Losing people you care about is damn hard. You never, EVER need to apologize to me for being upset about that.”

He bowed slightly, a quick bob of his head. “Thank you for your empathy, as usual.” His hands flexed. “In addition to requesting your forgiveness for my outburst, I should also like to apologize for the ungentlemanly behavior that preceded it. It was entirely inappropriate and in no way reflects my profound respect for you. As I hope you are already well-aware, I hold your friendship in the highest esteem.”

He looked into my eyes as he said the last part. The sincerity I saw there gave me courage.

“Actually, you shouldn’t apologize for that either.” I reached for his hand that rested on his knee, then interlaced my fingers with his. “It wasn’t the first time I’ve thought about you that way.” I swallowed. “Wasn’t the second time, either.”

He closed his eyes. I could see his chest rise and fall with his breathing. When he opened his eyes again, the warmth I saw made my heart flutter. “Ms. Mills, I must confess myself overcome.” He raised my hand and touched his lips to my knuckles for a moment. (His beard tickled.) “Truthfully, I did not dare to hope.” Crane’s eyes shone as he wrapped his other hand around mine, clasping it in both of his.

_Not exactly the reaction I was expecting, but it seems like he’s on board._ “So, um, if you want to see where it leads, I just want you to know that it doesn’t mean we’re in a ‘relationship’ or anything like that. I promise to be cool about it. Whatever this is…” I gestured back and forth between us. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal.” _Was that casual enough_?

“Ah.” His shoulders seemed to sag. “Thank you for the clarification.” He released my hand, then bowed his head and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips.

_Wait… did something just change, there?_

“I apologize, again, for my indecorum.” He took a deep breath. “And, to help ensure I do not repeat it, I have decided to change my hours at the station to those of the cemetery.”

“You’re going to work the graveyard shift?” I heard my voice rising, in disbelief. _Have you lost your big, giant mind?_

“Precisely. We can communicate by leaving notes on your desk or via text messages. It will be the easiest thing imaginable.”

“Crane… I can’t change my hours and I’m not sure I can make all those extra trips out here in the middle of the night. That’s kind of a lot of driving.”

“Whilst you slept, I verified the bus schedule, via your marvelous Google. It would appear a simple journey to the station via this conveyance.”

_What the hell is going on?_ By that point, had given up on trying to figure it out and was just sitting there with my mouth open.

When I didn’t say anything, Crane continued. “This change will permit my employment at the tavern when they appear most occupied, as determined by the number of automobiles in their courtyard at various times of day.”

I chuckled and something that was clenched in my stomach seemed to relax. “It’s sweet of you to want to help me pay off the bills for my car quicker, but you don’t have to do all that. If you can just fit in a few hours in whatever spare time you have, that would be perfect.”

His hands flexed. “This arrangement would also permit you more time to work, without my being a bother to you.”

I shook my head, trying to clear it. “You’re hardly a bother, Crane. We’re partners.” _Aren’t we?_

His eyes met mine and seemed to be asking - more like pleading for something… but what? “Perhaps I might be a more useful partner with a bit more distance.”

I curled forward a little bit, like something had just punched me. _But, I thought..._ I remembered his arms wrapped around me, holding me to his chest as he stroked my hair and asked me not to leave. _Yeah that lasted a whole two hours. Maybe three, tops._

I felt my confusion changing to anger. “If you want to avoid me, that’s more than OK, Crane. You don’t need to make up excuses.” I jumped up from the bed and stomped toward the door. “It’s not like I don’t have anything better to do than chauffeur your skinny ass around.” As I reached the door, the room picked just that minute to do a barrel roll. I started to fall, but grabbed the doorframe just in time.  

Crane was at my side in a second. “Ms. Mills! Are you well?” He touched my shoulder gently.

I jerked my arm away. “I’m fine. And I don’t need your help.”

“Perhaps you should lie down again?”

_Getting back in your bed is pretty much the last thing I want to do right now._ “Actually, I think I need some air.” Even through my anger, the concern in his eyes was obvious and it was making me feel like shit. _Guy just lost his family and I’m going off on him. Classy._ I pushed past him and headed for the front door.

**Crane pov**

I stood there a moment trying to make sense of what had just occurred. I recalled the warmth of the lieutenant’s smile as she told me she had imagined me as her lover… then the hurt in her eyes when I told her of my plans.

_It is better I distance myself than have you hate me for the besotted fool that I am_. _Or perhaps I bungle this so profoundly that you shall still despise me?_ At this last thought, I felt my stomach twist.

I heard the door slam. _The lieutenant would not attempt to pilot her vehicle, would she? She is not well…_

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Crane pov**

I ran for the front door… to find the lieutenant standing on the porch, her back toward me. I stopped a few feet behind her and looked out, as she did, toward the sun setting across the pond. Beyond the treetops, the sun’s rays threaded streaks of gold across the sky, reflecting in the still waters of the pond. _How can I lose my dearest friend on such an evening?_

“Can you please explain what’s going on, Crane?” Her voice was so soft, barely above a whisper, but the hurt in it was perfectly clear. “This morning, you asked me not to leave and now you’re pushing me away? I know you’ve had a big loss and it’s a lot to take in, but the way you did a 180 makes me feel like you were playing me.”

“Playing?!” I could not help but emit a small, slightly hysterical-sounding laugh because playing was so very far from my intent.  

“Oh, it’s funny, huh?” She turned around then. Her eyes blazed as she took a step toward me and I stepped back. “I’m glad you find manipulating me so entertaining.”

“Ms. Mills…” I held up my palms in front of me, in a gesture of surrender. “I assure you I was not ‘playing’ and would never attempt to manipulate you nor, certainly, take pleasure in doing so.”

“Then… what?” She held her hands out, palms up, as she took another step forward and I reversed again, so my back now pressed against the rough logs of the front of the house. “Care to enlighten me?” She folded her arms tightly over her chest and a small line appeared between her brows as she looked up at me.

I took a deep breath as I considered how to present this thorny subject. “I have the utmost admiration for your emotional reserve and have lost count of the many times I wished I possessed a cooler head, such as yours. You may have noticed my emotions get the better of me, at times?”

“Yeah, you lose your cool.” She shrugged. “But so what? And don’t change the subject.”

“I assure you I am not.” I tried to think how to convey what I wished her to know without sounding pathetic… but could see no good way.  

“You have made abundantly clear that do not desire my heart.” I said it quickly, all in one breath, and immediately hoped I should never have to say it again. “Please know that I respect your preferences in this matter.” _And, at the moment, can well understand them_. My hands flexed against the rough logs. “Unfortunately, this knowledge does not change my feelings for you, Ms. Mills.”

The line between her brows deepened. “And you show this so-called admiration by avoiding me? Yeah, that totally makes sense.” I had never heard so much sarcasm in her voice… at least not directed toward me.

“I am coming to that… if I may continue?”

“Feel free.” She huffed.

“At times, I think I comport myself appropriately but then your wit or your insight or your beauty catches me off guard and… as I said, my emotions run away with me.” I squeezed my eyes shut. _Perhaps it will be easier to speak these words if I do not witness the lieutenant's reaction to them?_ “How many more times can I impose my unwanted affections on you, as I did this morning, in the washroom, before you come to loathe me?”

_There; for good or ill, the thing is done._ Feeling a sense of release, I opened my eyes.

Her arms remained folded across her chest, but her hands no longer clenched her upper arms. Her expression seemed to have changed from one of anger to… uncertainty, perhaps?

“Since it seems I cannot reliably behave as a gentleman when you are near - despite my best efforts - what else am I to do than relieve you of my presence?” I held out my hands, in supplication. _But I shall miss you so, dear Ms. Mills_.

The lieutenant’s eyes had a soft look as she stepped toward me. I attempted to reverse again, but only succeeded in pressing my back more firmly against the wall of the house. Slowly, she reached forward to place one hand loosely at my waist. “Maybe you’re making this too complicated,” she whispered.

As she gazed up at me, her lips were slightly parted and her huge dark eyes beckoned to me. I recognized the desire I saw there, for it mirrored my own, and I knew, at that moment, she would welcome my kiss.  

_And… it would be so easy. All I need do is angle my head like so, and trace my fingertips across her cheekbone, so she tipped her face (her beautiful face) toward me._

Her hair brushed my hands as I rested them on her shoulders. _As our lips touched, perhaps she would make a soft sound as she threaded her graceful fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling me closer as she parted her lips beneath mine and…_  

“Anyway, how do you know I don’t?”

I shook my head, having completely lost the thread of our conversation. “That you don’t… what, precisely?”

Her voice was low as she laid her hand over my heart. I was sure she could feel it beating against her palm, thrilled to have her so near. “That I don’t desire your heart. What makes you so sure?”

_Why does she ask me this? How can she not already well-know the answer?_ “The letter, Ms. Mills. Need I remind you?” _Must you make me speak of it again?_

Her brow furrowed and she stepped backward. “But that was a joke… wasn’t it?”

“Ah, yes. The letter I wrote as ‘joke’.” I fear I may have rolled my eyes, at this point, as the ardor I felt a moment before changed to frustration and my self-control began to slip. “The prose was a bit juvenile, was it not?”

She took a step backward and folded her arms again. “No, it was well-written, I just-”

“Overly verbose, I think, and the references to water guns and automobile maneuvers hopelessly misplaced.” A small voice, in the back of my mind, urged me be silent. Instead, I made a (rather affected) oratorical gesture, as I might have done when lecturing. “Surely, it must have seemed the basest of comedy?”

“Crane, I didn’t mean to insult your writing, I just didn’t… understand what you meant by it.” She waved her hands. The sincerity in her eyes signaled, yet again, for me to cease talking. Naturally, I barreled on instead.

“Perhaps it should have been more plainspoken. Were I to rewrite it today, I would aim for greater clarity…” I hesitated as a small voice inside me insisted that what I was about to say was a very bad idea indeed. However, my mouth seemed to have a will of its own. "I should simply say..."

The small voice (which was no longer small) beseeched me to be silent as the lieutenant looked up at me with an expression that seemed to contain equal measures of expectation and dread. “...that… I love you.”

The effect was instantaneous. I heard her sharp intake of breath and watched as the look in her beautiful eyes changed to… shock? Perhaps even… fear? She closed her eyes and folded her arms again. I could see the small indents where her fingernails dug in to her upper arms.

_What have I done?_ Feeling as if I were free-falling through some sort of bottomless space, I began to babble. “Ms. Mills, I am deeply sorry for-”

“No!” She held up her hand, studiously avoiding my gaze.

_Ah. She will not even accept my apology._ I desired to comfort her, but forced my hands to remain at my sides, as I knew how unwelcome they must be to her, now… and perhaps forever.  

We stood there in silence a moment and I watched the rise and fall of her chest, as though she struggled to remain calm. (She looked away from me, so I could not see what emotion her fine features held.) Finally, I could bear my self-loathing no longer. “I should, perhaps… see to… “I gestured vaguely toward the door, well-aware my statement made no sense, nor did I have the faintest notion what must be “seen to” (though rum would likely make an appearance.)

As I turned to go the lieutenant said softly, “I haven’t said that to anyone - well, not to anyone alive - since my mom passed away.”

I cringed in shame. _Just when I thought I could not make a more wretched mess of this._ “Please forgive my belaboring - again- the issue of my unwanted affections and the painful memories I have thereby caused you to recall.” I rested my forehead against the edge of the door. “It was exceedingly stupid of me and entirely inadvertent.” Until today, I’d not the faintest notion that I was such a hopeless failure at matters of the heart. It was a rude awakening.

I stood there for a moment with my eyes closed, tapping my forehead against the door as I wished, desperately, that I could take back the last five minutes. As I wallowed in regret and self-pity, the lieutenant spoke.

“I beg your pardon?” I said softly, still not opening my eyes.

“I asked if I told you what my parents said, when I saw them on the Other Side.”

Although I could not see how this was germane to our previous discussion, I was so grateful she spoke to me that I did not care. “Hmm. I do not believe that you have.” I did open my eyes, then, to find her standing exactly where she had been. She seemed to be examining a point on the wall, behind me.

“They said not to be afraid,” she sighed.  

“That is difficult to conceive, as you are one of the bravest people I have ever had the pleasure to meet.”

“Thanks.” She gave a small smile, as she continued to examine the wall. “My mom also said that, just because things didn’t work out between her and Dad didn’t mean the same thing would happen to me.”

“That seems... wise counsel.”

“Do you think she meant, well, this?” She looked at me, as she made a small gesture, her hand flicking back and forth between us.

I felt as if some great gift had been laid at my feet and the world seemed to brighten. _If I say ‘yes’ will you open your heart to me?_

Guilt stabbed at me. _After all the ways I have failed you, still you value my opinions. Will I now break your faith and trust by offering a self-serving lie?_

“I cannot answer, as I do not know them, as much as I wish I did.” _A weak response, but an honest one_. The gift was swept away, the world went dark again. “Do you feel as if that is what they meant?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Dad knew you meant what it said in the letter.” She glanced up at me. “So they may have had an idea.”

My nails scratched at the logs as I strove to think of a response that would not to make matters worse than I already had. As I fumbled for a reply, the lieutenant spoke again.

“If I don’t… feel that way - that way you said - about someone, it’s like I’m keeping them safe.”  She grimaced, squeezing her eyes shut as though the words caused her pain. “Because the people I care about die.” Her gaze met mine at last. “Pretty lame, huh?”

_At last, a question I could answer_. “Not ‘lame’ in the least. I expect any sensible person who had experienced what you have would feel precisely the same.”

“Thanks… again.” She nodded. “I’ve never told anyone that. It sounds so dumb, now that I hear it out loud. Like magical thinking.”

“Ah. Magical thinking.” I made a mental note to inscribe this term in the marvelous Google. Perhaps it was a type of magic we had not previously encountered.

“It means, um, superstition.” She waved her hand. “Like, if I don’t break any mirrors or walk under ladders, I won’t have bad luck… which is _clearly_ bullshit because I’ve never done either of those things.”

“Yet you have still known misfortune.” _So your reticence is not directed toward me, personally._ I felt a bit better, at this realization.

“Exactly. And, since you’re way too fond of drinking poison and sword fighting with demons, I think you’re what the lady at my insurance would call a ‘bad risk’.”

_Or perhaps it was personal after all._ “I have already expressed my regrets for the poison episode and assured you I do not intend to repeat it.”

“You better not.” She gave me a pointed glance. “If you pull that crap again, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Noted… again.” I could not resist adding the last.

_So, we are at an impasse._ I regretted my impulsive speech, and how brusquely I'd expressed what should have been tender sentiment, but felt a sense of release that, at last, I had explained myself and (what must have seemed) my bizarre and contradictory actions toward the lieutenant. _If I still have your friendship, after all I have forced you to endure, I should consider myself blessed beyond measure_.

The lieutenant appeared lost in thought. She frowned and the line appeared between her brows again. After a moment, she drew a deep breath, then released it through pursed lips.

Her eyes locked on mine and my breath caught in my throat at the emotion I saw in her dark eyes. “What if I was willing to try?”

“To try?” I whispered. _I sound like a not-very-bright parrot. How odd._

“To try not to be scared of… that thing you said a minute ago.”

“What do you mean?” My heart hammered in my chest.

“I’m _not_ saying it again, Crane.” Her voice was a growl. “Don’t even go there.”

_Proceed with caution._ “In that case… I should… strive to be worthy of your effort.” I took a half-step toward her. My hand trembled as my fingers touched hers. (Not holding her hand, as I did not feel sure enough of myself for that; merely contact.)

She closed her eyes, then nodded slightly, as if deciding something. “I believe you.” She looked up at me again as she moved toward me. The distance she traveled was less than a foot, but for the way my heart leapt, it might have been leagues. She rested one hand lightly against my waist and I felt the warmth of her palm through my shirt.

A small smile played about the corners of her mouth and I thought I saw a hint of the beckoning look again, as her gaze met mine.

It seemed there was nothing else for it. “Ms. Mills, may I kiss you?”

She let out a short laugh. “Considering how you made me work for it, I think it’s the least you can do.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


 


	22. Chapter 22

***Abbie pov***

There was some awkwardness as Crane hunched over and I tipped my head back, trying to figure out how we fit together. His hair fell around our faces like a curtain, feathering softly against my cheek, then I felt the tickle of his beard just before his lips brushed mine. At the touch of his lips, I felt something like a spark or tingle go up my spine. On some signal, we both moved back and our eyes met. Crane’s brows knit together as his eyes seemed to be searching for something in mine. I felt the tingle again as his hand moved to cup my cheek and could feel the callouses on his palm as I turned my face toward his hand, seeking more contact.

“Ms. Mills?” He said it questioningly, like there was something he wasn’t sure about. His thumb stroked my cheekbone.

“I’m right here.” I looked up at him. The look I saw in his eyes sent the tingle lower, toward the pit of my belly. I rested my hands on his shoulders, helping me balance as I rose on my tiptoes and Crane bent toward me.

The kiss went on longer this time, his lips molding to mine. I had never kissed anyone with a beard before and it was definitely different, but _not necessarily_ in a bad way. The slight tickle was just more sensation. Toward the end, right before he pulled away again, his lips opened over mine.

When our eyes met again, I noticed his had a slightly dazed look, and I wondered if mine were the same. His lips were parted as our mouths met again and his tongue brushed against mine, slipping away again much too soon. I heard myself make a soft humming sound as I threaded my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck - it was so thick and soft - and pulled him toward me, encouraging him, as his hands rubbed my back, through my jacket.

He was bolder the next time and I moaned softly as he explored my mouth the way he did everything - thoroughly and precisely. By the time he broke away, I was clinging to him a little bit because my knees were weak.

I was having trouble thinking, but remembered what I meant to tell him. “You know not to touch any more power lines, right?” He watched my mouth as I spoke.

“You and Ms. Sharon were kind enough to explain that, yes. Thank you.” He whispered, his fingertip tracing my bottom lip.

“Good.” I nodded. As he bent to kiss me again, I slipped my hand into the space between his throat and the open collar of his shirt, then moving downward, to brush against his collarbone, his chest, feeling the muscle twitch beneath my touch. The soft hair tickled my palm as I moved my hand until I felt the smooth edge of his scar, then the rhythm of his heart, beneath my fingertips. Crane moaned low in his throat as he slipped his hands inside my jacket. I could feel the warmth of his palms, through my shirt, as they stroked in circles over my back.

He stooped forward to kiss along my jaw. I tipped my head to the side as his lips brushed my earlobe, then the spot just below it, shivering as I felt the warmth of his breath, then his tongue on this sensitive place.

“And… wearing your seatbelt.” I was having trouble collecting my thoughts, but it seemed important to remind him. “You know to always do that when you’re in a car, right?” My hands slipped into the silky strands of his hair again, cradling the back of his head as his mouth moved along the cord at the side of my throat, sucking and nibbling.

“I have always been most attentive to your directives on this point.” His hands formed to my ribcage pulling me closer as I arched my back toward him, giving him better access. He nudged my jacket aside with his nose, then kissed my collarbone. I may have moaned as I felt his tongue lap into the hollow at the base of my throat.

“Crane,” I whispered as he bent lower again. His lips followed the V neckline of my shirt downward as his hands under my jacket roamed over my back and the curve of my waist.

When he stood up again, the hunger I saw in his eyes made me tremble. I put my arms around his neck as he pulled me to his chest, kissing me deeply. His hands felt warm - almost hot - as they traced up and down my spine, coming to rest low on my hips, just above my ass.

“If I am being too forward… you must tell me…” As he rested his forehead against mine, his eyes were squeezed shut and he was breathing hard.

“You’re not being too forward. At. All.” I looked up at him, but it was hard to tell what he meant, because his eyes were closed. _Maybe he’s trying to tell me to slow down?_ “You’ll tell me the same?”

His eyes had a hooded look as they met mine. “You could not be too forward with me if you labored to do so.” _Was that a challenge?_ His hands cupped my cheeks and he kissed me sweetly.

As his lips parted, my tongue slipped past them, claiming his mouth as he had mine. My hands molded to his cheeks, holding him to me as I angled his face to deepen the kiss, putting everything I felt but didn’t know how to tell him into our mouths pressed together, my tongue gliding against his.

His arms tightened around me and I could feel him rock-hard against my belly. _Oh God!_ He must have known what I felt because he immediately edged backward, his hands pushing gently against my shoulders. He clenched his hands in his hair and I could see the muscle in his jaw twitch.

_Ugh. Did I go too far that time?_ “Is everything OK.”

“I have the deepest respect for you, lieutenant. I fear I am being ungentlemanly… I… Damnation!” He made a growling sound as he turned sideways. “Apologies. Again, I fear I am not demonstrating proper respect, to use such language in the presence of a lady.”

“You’ve heard me swear way worse than that a million times, Crane. And I know you respect me.” _Probably more than any other guy I’ve ever known_. “Just like I do you.” I put my hand on his arm and he turned his head slightly, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. _Give him an out. Maybe he’s freaking… or he’s changed his mind about this_. “If you want, we could, um… see what’s on TV and maybe grab something to eat?”

He sighed and I thought I saw the corners of his mouth turn down… but it passed so quickly, it was hard to be sure.

“That is a fine idea.” He didn’t quite meet my eyes, as he said it. “I believe there is, ah, chicken and I can compose the other dishes quickly.”

_The damn chicken again._ “Ok,” I nodded. _He really jumped on that out he gave him, didn’t he? Like, with both feet._ I felt disappointed, but not surprised.

He held the door open for me and we went inside. The light was better in here and I could see his lips were still swollen and reddened from my kisses. Without thinking, my fingertips brushed against my lips. _I can still taste him_.

I watched as he took his coat off and hung it up. “May I?” He gestured toward my jacket. I noticed he didn’t try to help me take it off, like he did earlier.

_It’s obvious he’s changed his mind about us._ I took my jacket off quickly and handed it to him. _Maybe he’s missing his family again… or maybe he doesn’t like me as much as he thought?_

“Would you care for coffee, whilst I prepare supper?”

“Coffee?” I wasn’t really paying attention.

_He’s about to start bustling around in the kitchen to fix some ridiculously delicious meal, then we’ll watch TV or maybe read and slip right back into our good old buddy routine_. I bit the inside of my lip. _It’s better this way, really. It’s… safe. Familiar. And maybe it will keep him alive, if I don’t lo-..._ Something clenched in my stomach. _...if I don’t care about him that way._ I realized, now, that what I was thinking was superstitious bullshit… but it was still some small consolation. _Better than nothing_.

“Yes. Would you… care for coffee?” His voice sounded a little shaky. I turned away, not wanting Crane to see me, in case my expression gave me away.

For once, I didn’t want coffee. Didn’t want dinner, either. ( _Though some wine would be more than ok. Just pass me the bottle, actually_.) “I don’t know.” I shrugged. I felt like I was being rude, but was having trouble making my brain work, when all it wanted to do was curl up in a little ball, away from the hurt. _I should probably say something_. “Um… do you want coffee?”

“I do not.” There was a long pause and heard Crane take a deep breath. “All I want is you, Ms. Mills. Most desperately.”

I felt a jolt. _Did I hear that right?_ I halfway turned toward Crane. My heart thudded against my ribs when I saw the emotion in his face.

“If you would have me, that is. After all I have put you through.” He looked so nervous; like he honestly thought I would say ‘no’. _How can someone so smart be so stupid?_

“Do you even have to ask that question?” I practically ran the few steps toward him and threw my arms around his neck.

When he kissed me again, it was different, like he had made up his mind about something. And he was definitely putting his full concentration into what our mouths and hands were doing. But, because he’s so tall, it was like trying to make out with a tree.

I broke our kiss for a moment to whisper, “We should sit down.” I poked Crane’s chest, directing him toward the table.

He unwrapped his arms from around me, but continued to hold my hand. After he sat, he looked up at me like, “Well?”

“I’ll just, um, join you, there.” As I sat on Crane’s lap, his arms wrapped around my waist, then pulled me flush against him as I put my arm around his shoulder.

“Mmm…” The low-pitched sound he made sent the tingle in my belly a little bit lower. “Much better.”

I wiggled my hips a tiny bit, moving closer to him. _What I thought I felt earlier… oh yeah, right there against my left hip_. From what I was feeling, I began to suspect that his brain and handsome face weren’t the only ways God had been kind to this man.

As Crane’s arms tightened around me and he kissed me again, deeply, I lowered my hands to his waist and began to untuck his shirt. _Please don’t freak out again_. He took the hint immediately and pulled it off over his head, dropping it on the floor. _I would have figured Crane for a neatly hanging things up guy. Who knew?_

The corded muscle in Crane’s chest flexed beneath my touch as my hands played over his chest. He moaned softly when the pad of my thumb brushed his nipple and I thought I felt him twitch against my hip.

As we kissed, his fingertips ran feather-light along my arms, my collarbones, tracing the V of my shirt collar, sending a spark of pleasure everywhere they touched. “You know to look both ways before you cross the street, right?” I murmured against his ear. “So you don’t get run over by a bus.” I wasn’t sure why, but it seemed like it was important that he know this.

“We had that precaution in my time as well,” he chuckled. We were so close that I could feel the rumble of his laughter. “Only its purpose was to prevent injury by a speeding barouche.”

His hand cupped my cheek as he looked at me, and I thought I saw a question in his eyes. _Is he waiting for me to make the next move?_

I moved my hands to my waist, to untuck my shirt, then pulled it off quickly, over my head. _Shit._ I had forgotten I was wearing a sports bra, which kind of smooshed my breasts into a uniboob. I sneaked a look at Crane, to see if he’d been expecting something cute and lacy. His eyes darted down, quickly, then back to my face. The look in his half-lidded eyes made something pulse right between my legs. _Maybe smooshed lycra uniboob was sexy, for Crane’s time?_

I shivered as I felt the warmth of his hands against my lower back, the rough calluses on his palms scratching lightly. His hands glided upward, molding to my ribs, his fingertips tracing just below the band of my bra. I leaned back, against Crane’s arm, as he inclined his head to kiss downward along my throat, then lower still. My hands threaded into his hair as I felt the tickle of his beard, then his breath in the hollow between my breasts.

I loved what he was doing, but it was making me want more. I took a deep breath, trying to work up my nerve. My hand shook as it folded around Crane’s fingers, then moved his hand upward, just a few inches, to cup my breast. I heard Crane's breath catch in his throat and, for a second, I was afraid I'd screwed up. Then I felt his fingers began to knead softly, massaging the sensitive tissue. I moaned softly as his thumb moved back and forth, circling, then a tension and prickling as his touch brought my nipple to a hard peak. His eyes met mine for a moment, in one of his trademark penetrating gazes, then he bowed his head, pressing kisses to my breast through the fabric. When I felt the heat of Crane's mouth, that was my brain's cue to go on a short vacation as my hands gripped his hair and the muscles in my arms flexed, holding him to me.

My brain checked in for just a second to tell me to remind Crane that, “You should never, ever stick anything metal in the toaster." My hands tightened convulsively as I felt his tongue, through the fabric. "Because of... um... electricity... or something."

He glanced up at me again and I thought I saw a puzzled look, behind the heat of his gaze. "Because the electric current passes through the metal implement?"

I nodded. _What the hell; sounds like as good a reason as any._ My hands urged his head downward again.

I arched my back as Crane’s hand moved to cover my other breast, stroking against the shiny fabric. I must have leaned back more than I thought because I heard the chair creak, and then start to tip over. I probably would have just kept on kissing Crane, as we hit the floor, but he quickly grabbed the edge of the table, steadying us.

“I think that might have been my fault.” I grinned. “Got a little carried away, there.”

He kissed my cheek. “You may become ‘carried away’ in this fashion at any time you please.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly and he arched an eyebrow.

I laid my hand against his cheek, my fingertips stroking his beard, then I pressed my lips to his, softly, lingering there. When I moved back, his gaze traveled from my lips to my eyes. A moment passed; he looked away, made an “ahem” sound, then looked at me, from under his eyelashes. “Perhaps we should, ah, retire to the settee?” He motioned vaguely toward the living room.

I swallowed. _Here goes everything_. “Maybe we’d be more comfortable in the bedroom.”

 


	23. Chapter 23

***Crane pov***

The lieutenant’s hand felt warm in mine, our fingers interlaced, as we traversed the short hallway.

As we stood in the doorway, the lieutenant looked up at me, with a small smile, then moved to sit on the side of the bed, where she began to remove her boots. I illuminated the lantern on the bedside table, then sat beside her, to do the same.

When she finished, she turned toward me, resting the palm of her hand just above my knee. The sight of her small, lovely hand pressed against my thigh was still a bit overwhelming.

My head spun from how quickly we had progressed from a kiss to my bed. (Not that I wished to stop; desire for the lieutenant had burned inside me for months.) There was also some trepidation: _Perhaps differences now are greater than I realize… such as the seemingly bizarre custom of offering cautionary suggestions, as the lieutenant did during our earlier lovemaking._

The lieutenant’s eyes met mine. Seeming to read my thoughts, she offered a reassuring smile as she laid her hand against my cheek, the pad of her thumb stroking my cheekbone. “You doing OK? You seemed like you checked out on me there, for a second.”

_Am I on the cusp of making a fool of myself with you again?_ “I am exceedingly well, because you are with me, here.” I turned slightly to press a kiss against the palm of her hand. “You bring me great joy.” _I only pray that I do not disappoint you_.

Her fingers moved from my cheek to trace the shell of my ear. (I shivered at the feathery lightness of her touch.) From there, her hand drifted into my hair, where her fingertips rubbed my scalp as she inclined her face toward mine.

As the kiss deepened, I pulled her closer, marveling at how warm and smooth her skin felt beneath my palms as they caressed her back. Meanwhile, her hands roamed over my chest. I heard myself hum softly as her fingertips rubbed my nipple, then descended through the patch of hair on my belly, dipping just inside the waistband of my breeches, then lower again. _Merciful God._ I gasped at her touch as one fingertip trailed over my arousal, its appearance in my breeches now unmistakable.

With a shy smile, she swung her legs onto my bed, then slid sideways as she leaned back against the pillows, making a space beside her. The beckoning expression was in her dark eyes again, as irresistible as sorcery.

_If this is a spell, I do not desire to awaken._

Putting my doubts aside, I reclined beside the lieutenant and pulled her into my arms, feeling her own arms twine ‘round me, as I did so.

The lieutenant was correct: the bed was vastly more comfortable, magically making us the same size. As her tongue pushed into my mouth, my hand traced below the shiny garment that supported her breasts, my thumb venturing upward to tease her nipple, continuing until I felt it harden beneath my touch. The latter action was rewarded with a sigh and tightening of the lieutenant’s fingers in my hair.

This seemed an appropriate juncture to test my prowess with the odd custom I had noted earlier, in the lieutenant’s affections.

“You must never walk close behind a horse.” I murmured against the cord at the side of her neck. “It is exceedingly dangerous to do so, as they are prone to kick.”

After a pause, “Yeah… that’s um…good to know.” She put her hand over mine, changing the angle slightly, urging a firmer touch where my thumb rubbed. “Mmm. Yes.” _Is the lieutenant’s assertion of what pleases her another modern custom? If so, it is much to my liking._

She sat up and I could see her bosom rise and fall with her breathing. “Try to pretend like you don’t notice how awkward this looks.” She offered an abashed smile, then crossed her arms and tucked her fingertips underneath the lower band of the garment that covered her breasts. It seemed rather a tight squeeze as she pulled it over her head. “Sports bras are a pain to take off.”

I barely noted the garment’s name that had eluded me for so long because I was transfixed by the lieutenant’s beauty as she reclined against the pillows again. I allowed my gaze to descend for a moment, reveling in the vision before me. Her breasts were perfect, the nipples a rich brown, a few shades deeper than her impossibly smooth skin.

I leaned forward to kiss her again. “I must confess myself overwhelmed by your beauty.”

“Thank you.” She whispered and her gaze dropped, to her lap. “For the compliment.” _Could it be possible the lieutenant does not know how lovely she is… in every way?_

“But it is not a compliment; I merely speak the truth.” I placed my hand softly on her cheek. “Though your beauty, to me, is much more than what my eyes behold.”

Her cheek grew warm beneath my palm and I felt something begin to coil low in my belly, like a spring winding, at the heat I saw in her gaze. “Come here,” she growled as she wrapped her arm around my neck, pulling me down.

I kissed the lieutenant deeply, moving partly over her as my lips trailed downward along her throat, then lower still. As my mouth closed over her nipple, the lieutenant gasped and arched her back toward me. My hand and tongue busied themselves, to be rewarded by her sighing, "Never text and drive. It’s really dangerous.”

As I barely grasped how to send a text message, much less pilot a vehicle, this precaution seemed a bit misplaced… or else I was having difficulty parsing this modern practice _. Perhaps if my lips are otherwise occupied, I may be excused from offering a reply?_ My mouth and hand changed sides, as I tried something a bit different with my tongue.

“Crane,” she murmured. “Yes. Please.” I felt her leg wrap around mine.

Venturing a peek up at the lieutenant’s beautiful face, I could see her eyes were half-closed and her lips parted, with her breaths.

My hand caressed her shapely leg, encouraging it to twine more closely, then moved upward to cup her magnificent backside. She moaned, her hips rolling against me as my fingers kneaded softly.

_Do I dare?_

I moved my hand between us, tracing upward along the inner seam of her trouser leg to the junction between her thighs, my thumb finding the particular spot.

I rubbed lightly, cautious of how my touch might feel beneath the thick fabric seam. “May I?”

“God, yes,” she breathed. She angled her leg upward, affording more room for my hand. I had not thought it possible to feel more aroused than I already did until I heard her sigh and felt her clutch at my shoulders, her nails scratching lightly as her hips hitched with the movement of my fingers.

I had become so mesmerized by the soft sounds she made and the play of expressions on her beautiful features that I did not notice as her hand stole between us, her fingers folding over my sex, through my breeches, and moving in rhythm with my own hand.

“Ms. Mills…” I leaned my forehead against hers for a moment, panting as sensation overcame me, then kissed her hungrily.

As we drew back, her hands plucked impatiently at the front of my breeches. “How do you open these damn things?”

“Allow me.” I unhooked the buttons faster than e’er before in my life, then raised my haunches from the bed as she helped me draw the breeches down my legs, noticing that her eyes followed her hands downward, as she did so, her expression appearing… uncertain?

“Lieutenant?” I stroked her cheekbone (hoping she would enlighten me, hoping I was not found wanting). Instead of words, I found my answer in her lips pressed to mine, her hand stroking over my belly, then lower, through the thicket of hair. As she gripped me, I struggled to maintain my composure, only to lose this inward battle in an appallingly loud moan that I could not restrain as her hand began to move. (It had, after all, been more than two centuries.)

The thick fabric of her trousers scratched at the flesh over my hipbone as the lieutenant repositioned her leg. _But something is wrong here, is it not?_ I dipped my forefinger along the seam of fabric between her legs. “Perhaps you are overdressed for this occasion?” I whispered.

“Good point.” She rolled away from me, onto her back, and I regretted my words, for a moment, as she withdrew her hand… then felt my heart stutter as the lieutenant’s nimble fingers worked the closure of her trousers, revealing a very small sort of loin covering, in a deep red color, that hugged the sweetly rounded contour of her _mons Venus_. Of all the modern finery I had seen, I immediately recognized this garment as my most particular favorite.

I helped her push her trousers downward, caressing her shapely legs as I did so. (They were even more splendid than I had imagined.)

She grinned as she turned back toward me again. “Where were we?”

“As I recall, it was something of this sort-” My hand stroked the curve of her waist, pulling her closer, then returned to its previous exertions, now greatly abetted by the presence of only a thin layer of soft knitted stuff between the lieutenant and my eager fingers.

“Crane…” she whispered, “Yes…” For a few moments, the only sounds were the lieutenant’s panted breaths.

She began to thrust against my hand, pressing her sex against my fingertips. “More,” she whispered, “please.” Not wishing to disappoint a lady, I traced my hand downward over the lieutenant’s undergarment, following the trail of slick moisture that soaked the thin fabric, nearly spending myself as I realized how ready she was for me.

Slipping my fingers beneath the panel of fabric that covered her sex, I moved it aside to tease her coarse curls, then tickle the slick seam between them. She moaned as one fingertip poised at the opening.

“May I?” I murmured.

“Yesss…”

I sheathed one finger in her slick heat, waiting for her to adjust. When she began to buck against my hand, I added a second finger, my thumb returning to the swollen bundle of nerves above.

_Let us see what has changed in two centuries._ I crooked my fingertips backward, in a ‘come-hither’ motion as though beckoning the lieutenant come closer.

“Crane… yes.. God...” The lieutenant’s supple thighs parted wider, opening herself to me, as I continued the motions of my hand, gradually increasing in speed to match the movements of her hips, until she began to clench and ripple around me. A furrow appeared between her brows as her eyelids slipped shut and she made a noise low in her throat (a sound I greatly desired to hear again. And often.)

Once the lieutenant's hips stilled, I slid my fingers out and wrapped my arms around her, as I waited for her breathing to slow.

“That was… God!” She nestled her face in the place where my neck and shoulder join, then looked up at me. “Did people do that in your time?”

I raised an eyebrow. “What do you suppose, Lieutenant? Perhaps you can intuit the answer.”

“And here I was thinking all you guys did in your spare time was ride around in buggies and drink tea.” The mischievous look that I adored gleamed in her eyes.

l knew I should pique at her description of myself and my contemporaries but, at that moment, I felt much too content to work myself into a lather. “There were buggies and tea. And revolution. And, yes, _that_.”

“Mmm…” She hummed, a low musical sound. “Seems like it’s your turn now.”

Her fingers stroked over my chest, then gently enfolded my arousal again, just below the head. I watched, breathless, as her thumb moved in a circle there, spreading a bead of moisture that had wept from the opening. When her hand began to stroke up and down the shaft, my eyes closed and I seemed to lose track of all else save the passion she ignited in me. As the speed of her strokes increased, I found my hips hitching against her hand, seemingly of their own volition, until I felt a familiar tension began in my belly and flanks.

“Ms. Mills!” I panted, resting my hand on hers. “As much as desire your touch, I fear that, if you do not stop, this will be over very soon.” _Or perhaps that is what you desire?_ I had not considered this.

“We can’t have that, can we?” She leaned forward to kiss me. “Oh… hold up.” She rolled backward and her hands moved to the very small, very red garment she still wore. I seemed to forget how to breathe as her thumbs slipped beneath the narrow straps, then drew the garment down her legs, revealing an alluring thatch of jet-black curls. I felt myself twitch against her as I saw how they glistened with moisture.

My eyes traveled slowly upward, back to her eyes. “You are worth waiting two centuries for.”

She smiled, then moved forward to kiss along my cheekbone as my arms slipped around her, holding her close. “I couldn’t have waited that long with you” she whispered, her mouth just next to my ear. “I would have given in to temptation _way_ before then.” I shivered at the throaty sound of her voice followed by the touch of her lips on my earlobe.

Against the tide of lust that threatened to overwhelm me, I struggled not to lose my train of thought as I recalled, from before my marriage, the conversation that must now ensue.

“Ahem. I assume you do not desire to become with child?”

Her face seemed to freeze and I felt her muscles tense, beneath my palms. “It’s… not exactly in the game plan, with us having to stop the apocalypse and all.”

“Of course…” I huffed, beginning to feel frustrated. “But that is not precisely what I meant…” _Damnation. Has she no idea to what I refer? Can biology be different, now?_

She let out a small nervous-sounding laugh, then gasped, her fingertips tapping her forehead. “Are you asking me if I want you to, um… pull out?”

My face felt as if it were on fire. “That sounds as if it is roughly the nature of my query, yes.”

She exhaled and I felt her become pliant in my arms again. “You don’t need to worry about that. I take a pill that regulates my cycle. It also keeps me from getting pregnant.”

“Your cycle?” I thought of the two-wheeled vehicles I’d seen on the roadside.

“My… woman’s time every month”

“Oh!” If my face had felt as though it were on fire before, it was now a raging inferno.

“It’s so adorable when you blush like that. I have to kiss you right now.”

She began by kissing my cheeks... which progressed for some while in an entirely satisfactory manner. By the time we finished, ardor had (mostly) replaced my chagrin.

Unfortunately, I felt as if, in good conscience, I could not let the matter rest, until I was certain. “Forgive me for belaboring but… you are positive of this?” _Not that I would not desire you to bear my child… in better times_.

“Positive.” She lay back again and smiled up at me. At the look in her dark eyes, I felt something nameless kindle between us.

***Abbie pov***

Our eyes met as Crane swallowed, then moved between my legs. I laid my hand against his cheek, stroking softly. “It’s OK, I want you to,” I whispered, before he could ask.

He wiggled slightly, aligning with me and then, _oh God_ , there he was. As he rolled his hips gently against mine, I moved my knees further apart until I could feel him parting my folds, then his hard length rubbing against my clit. He glided easily against me because I was so wet. (I had never been like that with anyone before and wasn’t sure if I should be embarrassed.) But then, when he stroked against me again, it felt so good that I didn’t care.

My hands rubbed his lower back, feeling the hard muscle there flex beneath my palms as they urged him into a rhythm. After a few minutes, I angled myself upward. He slid through my folds again, once, twice, changing the angle slightly until could feel him throbbing just at my entrance.

“If you desire to stop, pray tell me now.” His hair hung in disarray around his face; his eyes were half-closed and he was breathing hard.

_Should I tell him to go slow?_ I hadn't been with anyone since Morales and I nervous he might be kind of… big… for me. “Don’t stop,” I whispered.

Crane’s eyes locked on mine, watching my face, as he inched forward, in short thrusts, giving me time to stretch and adjust to his size, like he read my mind.

When he was fully inside, his fingertips brushed my cheekbone. “Alright, darling?” he whispered.

“Way, way better than alright.” I tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear. _Did you just call me darling?_

He began to move, still going slow. After a few minutes, I got the nerve to bring my legs up. His hand stroked my leg, helping me lock my ankles above his ass, then he bent forward to kiss me (which took some maneuvering, because he had to hunch forward while I tipped my head back.) At his next thrust, we both moaned at the same time and I clutched at his shoulders. The feeling of having him so full and deep inside me was like nothing I'd ever experienced.

I rotated my hips to increase the sensation. Crane moaned again, dipping his forehead against mine as he panted. Feeling his fingertips brush against my jaw, I looked up. “Abbie,” he whispered, “treasure.” My heart thudded against my ribs at the warmth in his eyes.

He bent to kiss me again, his tongue plunging in rhythm with our bodies below. I realized that when I rolled my hips at a certain angle - _sweet Jesus, like that_ \- he hit exactly the right spot. It was right about here that I stopped trying to string two thoughts together in favor of just feeling: the heat that came off of Crane like a furnace, the sound of his rapid breaths, the muscles in his back rippling against my hands that urged him forward, toward completion while, at the same time, I wished he would never stop.

After a few minutes, I began to feel a familiar tightening in my belly. “Crane,” I moaned, “I’m about to...”.

He gave a quick nod, seemingly having as much trouble coming up with words as I was (which might have been a first, for Crane.) He kissed me, which resulted in my moaning into his mouth as I felt his hips drive against mine.

As the speed of Crane’s thrusts increased, the heat and tension he was creating inside me increased to an almost unbearable level. “Don’t you…” I panted “dare stop”. Crane’s eyes were squeezed shut and I wasn’t sure if he heard me, except that he seemed to pick up speed. I could feel the muscles in his shoulders clench as I grabbed at them, possibly digging my nails in just a little.

Finally, _finally_ , I felt something like a dam bursting and I threw my head back and I made a sound that I’m not sure I’d ever made in front of a guy before as I felt the pressure release. For a few seconds, I seemed to be floating and couldn’t think about anything but how incredibly good I felt. When I came back to myself, I heard Crane moaning my name as the pace of his thrusts grew ragged. He groaned as he arched his back, burying himself deeply, then I felt him release, the warmth flooding me as his hips hitched shallowly against mine.

He collapsed on top of me, breathing hard. My fingertips stroked up and down his back (which was kind of sweaty) feeling his ribs rise and fall and the soft puffs of his breath against my hair. He was starting to get heavy and I was going to have to tell him to move… but in a minute, not just yet.

I petted the damp locks of his hair. _Did we do the right thing? Are things going to be weird between us now?_

After a moment, I felt him slip out as he rolled off, to lie beside me. _Are you comparing me to Katrina? Let’s see… she’s a witch with supernatural powers and I’m… your basic cop; nobody, really_. I felt myself make a face. _She’s really tall, too._

Afraid of what I would see when my eyes met his, I bit my lip as I looked over at Crane. But, in place of the doubt or distance I expected to see, there was only warmth and joy. When his gaze met mine, the corners of his mouth turned up and he pulled me toward him (not that I was resisting). I felt him fumbling for something behind himself, then the fuzzy blanket being drawn over me.

I nestled my cheek against his shoulder, stroking his chest as I listened to the strong, steady beat of his heart. _I could stay right in this spot for a while_.

I felt Crane’s lips against my forehead, then he whispered, “Sea bathing is most unwholesome, as it permits ague to enter through the pores.”

_What. The. Hell?_ I tipped my head back to look up at Crane, to see if he had possibly lost his mind. “I’m not sure what ‘ague’ is but I’ve been swimming at Cove Island a bunch of times and the only thing I ever caught was athlete’s foot from not wearing flip flops in the changing rooms.”

Crane frowned, his lips pressed together into a thin line. I thought I heard him growl softly. Finally, I figured out that was the only reply I was going to get.

Of course, I couldn't just let it go.

_Why did you tell me that? Because now it’s starting to bother me..._ “I guess we could go to the beach later, if you wanted to… but, I’m warning you, the water’s going to be super cold.” My fingertips brushed feather-light over his nipple. “Or we could stay here where it’s warm.”

“I do not desire to go to the shore, as I much prefer to stay precisely where I am.” He kissed my forehead as his hands swept gently over my hair... but his voice sounded kind of ticked off. It was a weird combination; so weird that I needed to know...

_Shut up! No, seriously!_ “So… why did you mention going to the beach?”

Immediately, he unwrapped his arms from around me and moved to sit on the side of the bed, his back toward me. _Damn you, stupid curiosity!_

“It is the fault of this ridiculous modern custom of offering…" His hands twitched against the mattress. "...advice, I suppose... during lovemaking.” His voice definitely sounded pissed now, like he was gearing up for a full-blown Crane rant. “If the practice made sense in the slightest, I should have parsed it correctly.”

_Advice?_ Feeling completely confused, I sat up and wrapped the blanket around my shoulders, then scooted over to sit beside him. “I’m not sure what you mean by advice.” I laid my hand gently on his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles under my fingertips. “Can you fill me in a little?”

“You cautioned me regarding the myriad dangers of electricity, piloting a vehicle, and crossing the street - the latter of which precaution existed in my time as we did not, in fact, live in caves.” He turned his head toward me slightly, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “So perhaps you might ‘fill me in’ as well.”

“Um…” _Shit._ I curled forward, pulling the blanket closer around me. “I guess I did say all that stuff, didn’t I?” I tried for a casual tone, but it came out all wrong, more like hurt. I could feel my stomach start to tie itself into a knot.

As I spoke, Crane turned toward me. He didn't look mad anymore. “I am certain you had excellent reasons for sharing these… facts, such as they are, at this juncture.” His voice was soft.

_It made sense in my mind at the time_. _Does that count as an explanation?_ “Now I feel stupid.” I put my hand over my face.

“By rights, you should never feel that way, as it is a blatantly untrue.” His rested his hand lightly in my arm.

We sat there for a minute, his thumb rubbing circles around the knob of bone at my elbow as I tried to think of what to say. I moved my hand to my lap, watched it fiddle with the stitching on the blanket. “I guess I was thinking that when you lo-” I stopped as the word caught in my throat, then took a breath. “When you _care about_ someone, you look after them.”

I glanced up from my lap to sneak a look at Crane’s face. The space between his eyebrows pleated, the way it did when he was concentrating. “Like I took care of Mom and Jenny after Dad left.” He nodded, then moved his hand from my elbow to clasp my palm in his.

"That sounds like great responsibility for a child."

“Just a little!” I gave a short, breathy laugh, releasing some of the tension.

He bowed his head slightly as he brought my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss softly against my knuckles. “You are most welcome to care for me,” he whispered. “Except…”

“Except?” _No way in hell this is going to be good_.

We were sitting so close, I could see the blonde tips at the ends of his eyelashes as they fluttered open and shut. He took a deep breath. “Except I thought we might take care of each other.”

“That’s good.” I felt kind of sick as I bobbed my head, the way you do when you have to pretend you like something shitty. “Very, um, witness-y. Teamwork and that stuff.”

“As your fellow witness or in any way you would have me,” he said softly. The pad of his thumb rubbed against the center of my palm.

Our eyes met and the look he gave me was so nakedly open, so sincere, like he was offering me his heart, right there. I’m not sure anyone from this century (and that includes me) could get away from snark and sarcasm long enough to even be capable of a look like that. I exhaled as I felt something that was clenched inside me start to release. “‘Any way’ could work.” I swallowed. “Let’s go with that.”

His touch was soft, like a whisper, against my ear as he tucked my hair behind it. “Indeed, let us.” The tip of his tongue darted out to moisten his lips as he spoke, which was all the encouragement I needed.

I turned toward Crane, my fingertips stroking his beard as I angled my face toward him. His eyes half-closed and he smiled as he leaned forward to press his lips to mine.

The kiss started sweetly, then deepened, but slowly, like we had all the time in the world. His hands moved to the curve of my waist as I wrapped my arms around him, my hands cradling the back of his head (and losing the blanket somewhere in the process.) He kissed along my jawline, then I felt his beard against my ear as he suckled my earlobe, the soft sounds and lapping of his tongue making my toes curl.

“Did you guys have make-up sex back in the day?” I whispered, my eyes starting to slip shut as his fingertips drew an intricate pattern (maybe hieroglyphics) over my hipbone

“Hmm…” My hands clutched at his shoulders as the deep, velvety hum seemed to make something vibrate inside me. “I am unsure if we had this practice.” He pulled away to look at me, raised one eyebrow, then leaned in to kiss my cheek, all innocence, until he whispered right beside my ear, “Perhaps you could teach me to what you refer. Tonight.” His hand moved to cup my breast, his thumb teasing my nipple exactly the way I showed him, exactly the way I liked. The throaty sound of his voice and the way his fingers rubbed seemed to drive all thinking out of my mind, leaving only want. “I think you will find me to be an eager student.” His hand felt warm, almost hot as it glided leisurely over my belly.

Finally, it was like I came to myself. “We’ll see about that."

As I stood, he looked uncertain for a split-second, then the corners of his mouth turned up in a slow smile as I moved to straddle his lap. His hands molded to the curve of my hips, steadying me as I rested my hands on his shoulders, then leaned to push him backward, onto the bed.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	24. Chapter 24

***Abbie pov - six years later ***

“Jenny Mills calling for Mrs. Crane. Will you accept?”

“Hey Gunther. Sure, please put her on.” It was kind of hard to hear because of a droning engine noise in the background on the other end of the line.

“Jenny,” I mouthed to Crane, as I changed lanes.

“Hey big sis.”

“Are you having your cabana boy make your calls now?”

“Tch. He’s not a cabana boy; he’s an intern.”

“Oh, an _intern._ ” I let a teeny bit of snark creep into my voice. “Does the University of Albany offer a major in explosives now?”

“Nope.” Jenny made a popping sound on the “p”. “International business.”

“Oh…” _I hadn’t thought about that._ “That actually kind of um-”

“-fits. Yep, I know.”

“Look at you; you’re all legit now.”

“Great. Now you’re making me feel old.”

“That makes me even older. No thanks!”

“Hm. Maybe I should teach Gunther how to clean my AKs or disarm an IED, just so I don’t lose my touch. What do you think?”

“I don’t think you’ll ever have to worry about losing your touch, Jenny.” Crane looked at me like, “What the hell are you guys talking about?” I shrugged and shook my head; I’d explain it later.

“Anyway…” Jenny said, “How’d your doctor appointment go?”

“It went OK; she said everything looks good.”

Crane smiled at me, then reached over to rub my shoulder for a second.

“Great news.” I could hear Jenny’s smile over the phone. “I still can’t believe we’re talking about this, can you?”

“I can’t believe it either… but it’s starting to sink in.”

“Shit is getting real, huh?”

I snorted a laugh, ignoring the side-eye that Crane gave me.

“So, are you back in town yet?”

“Actually, I think we’re over…” I heard her voice move away from the phone. “Gunther, is that the Baltic Sea?” I could hear Gunther’s accent, but couldn’t make out what he said. After a minute, Jenny’s voice returned. “I’m informed we’re 10,000 feet over Siberia. Thanks, Gunther.”

“Siberia?! Do they have magic doodads there?”

Jenny laughed. “Everyplace has magic doodads, if you know where to look.”

“Dammit! Almost missed my exit.” Crane clutched at the door handle as I swerved across the highway, barreling onto the ramp at the last second.

“Was that an illegal lane change I just heard?”

“Yep. Never a cop when you need one, huh?”

On the other end of the line, I heard what sounded like an announcement in another language.

“I think we’re about to land; guess I’d better let you go.”

“Take care, baby sis. Miss you.”

“Back at you.”

After we said our good-byes, I slipped my phone back into the pocket of my jacket.

“I trust Ms. Jenny is well?”

“She sounded good. Get this - she has an intern now and they’re in Siberia.” _Or over Siberia, anyway_.

“Good Lord! Is even that remote place settled now? It was terra incognita in my time.”

“I think everyplace is settled now.” I smiled as Crane leaned against the window, peering up at the skyscrapers. No matter how often we visited the city, he never seemed to tire of seeing them.

_I hope I haven’t missed the turn; it’ll be a pain in the ass to backtrack, with all these one way streets._ “Can you please help me watch for signs to the museum? We should be getting close.”

***

As we waited in line for our tickets, Crane’s hands were flexing so much I was afraid they would fall off. “You doing OK there?”

“It is unsafe for you to overexert yourself with lengthy standing such as this,” he huffed. “We should depart.”

“Crane, no! You’ve wanted to see this exhibit since we found out about it last year.”

“That was before…” he lowered his voice to a whisper “your condition.”

“I’m fine. The doctor said so herself.” I rubbed my hand against his upper arm.

He sniffed and went back to thumbing through the brochure for the exhibit. “You must tell me if you begin to feel fatigued, that we may leave at once.” He looked like he was reading, but I could hear the concern in his voice.

_This means so much to him_. “I promise I’ll tell you.”

***

As we entered the gallery, Crane and I gasped in unison when we saw the huge portrait of a racehorse on the wall opposite the entrance. I'd seen it before on my computer screen, of course, but it was different seeing it so... huge and real-looking.

The way the horse reared onto its hind legs looked like it was about to jump right out of the frame. It was hard to believe it had been painted before the invention of the camera. “Good job, Jeremy,” I whispered to Crane as we jointed the crowd of people milling around in front of the painting.

When we got closer, I noticed the expression in the horse’s face. You could tell he was thinking about something - probably wishing he could go back in the barn. _I hope they gave you lots of carrots for all the posing you had to do_.

An elderly man on the other side of Crane looked back and forth from the program to the portrait. “Is this _Halfpenny_?”

“Actually Sir, that is _Cutty Wren_ , the portrait that brought Wolcott fame. It was painted whilst he was still the ward of his aunt and uncle, the Wolcotts.”

“Were they his aunt and uncle?” A lady leaned around the elderly man. ( _Maybe the older guy’s daughter; she kind of looks like him_.) “The program said it was a big mystery, how he came to them.”

I could see Crane’s “Oh shit” expression. “Well, that is one theory. They may have been his aunt or uncle or perhaps some other distant relation…” He waved his hand.  “...the particulars of which are long since lost to time.”

The elderly man spoke again, “How did he become famous?”

“Soon after this painting was completed, in 1798, the real Cutty Wren took the Ascot Gold Cup, which is Britain's most prestigious event for "stayers" or horses that race over long distances.” Crane’s posture seemed to become even straighter and his voice took on what I recognized as its lecturing tone. “Some theorize that having one’s horse painted by Wolcott might have been perceived as a good luck charm as, indeed, future subjects went on to subsequent victories in various equestrian contests. However, the predominant thought is that the singular quality of Wolcott’s work - the dynamism of the animals’ poses and their eloquent expressions - led to his wide appreciation.”

“Because folks could see he was a damn fine artist,” the elderly man laughed.

“Precisely, sir.” Crane beamed.

The lady on the other side of the old guy piped up again. “What did he paint next?”

Crane gestured toward a painting of a man seated on a beautiful dappled grey horse. Its coat looked so velvety and it had such a sweet expression that I wished I could pet it. “To your left, you will behold _Mercury_ , runner-up in the Queen Anne Stakes, in 1801. This is also the first example in which Wolcott depicts the owner, Richard Bingham, then Earl of Lucan.” _Oh yeah, he’s definitely lecturing now. You’d think he’d get enough of that at work._ Some other people in the room wandered over to listen.

Crane took a step toward the other painting, then stopped. “Ahem. Apologies. I forget I am otherwise engaged.” He gave the man and woman an embarrassed-looking smile, then turned back toward me.

“Forgive me, my love, for my tedious droning. If you are not too wearied, perhaps we could proceed to the next room?”

“You’re not droning.” I squeezed his hand. “Why don’t you stay here and tell folks about Jeremy while I look around a little.”

Crane looked torn. I knew how proud he was of his son’s accomplishments and that he would love bragging about him. “You will not go far?”

“Nope. I’ll just look around at the rest of the exhibit.”

“We promise we’ll bring him right back.” The elderly man smiled.

“Better not keep your fans waiting.” Crane’s fingers wrapped around mine, then released, as he and his entourage moved toward the painting of the grey horse. I heard someone ask if he was an art history professor.

“No, my interests are confined to this particular artist.” His eyes met mine over the crowd’s head and I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

I watched him perform for a few minutes, then turned to look at some of the other paintings. As the dates progressed, you could see Jeremy’s clients getting fancier, as their clothes and the buildings behind them got more expensive-looking. My favorite part, though, was how Jeremy painted the horses’ faces - as if he was interested in them and wanted to show what they were thinking. I wondered if Jeremy liked horses as much as I did and wished, not just for Crane’s sake, that we had gotten to meet him. _But things worked out better the way they did. If he had been in that grave, like we thought he was, he never would have gotten to do all this._

I thumbed through my program as I turned the corner into the next room. When I looked up, I nearly dropped the brochure as I felt my heart thud against my ribs.

The sweet smile of Grace Dixon, my great, great (a bunch of greats) grandmother shone out at me, from the painting. Her eyes had the warm expression I remembered, but there were now small crinkles beside them and her hair was streaked with grey. In contrast to the simple dress her ghost had worn, she had on a dark gold gown with a pretty lace collar. From the way the fabric gleamed, I wondered if it might be silk. She was sitting in an easy chair in what looked like a library (judging from the bookshelf behind her). I wondered if the handsome man standing next to her was her husband, Joseph, my however-many-greats grandfather.

I moved forward to read the sign beside the painting.

>   
> **Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Dixon (1820)**
> 
> Mr. and Mrs. Dixon were part of London’s rising merchant class. This portrait depicts them in middle age in the study of their townhouse in Regents Park, London. The Dixon family is known to have emigrated from New York to England in the latter 18th century but nothing is known of their life in America or reasons for departing.
> 
> Grace Dixon was a midwife whose calm manner and expert skill in difficult and prolonged deliveries made her much sought-after. In contrast to the high rate of infant and maternal mortality of the time, she is never known to have lost a patient. Her husband, Joseph Dixon, was employed as an assistant to Sir Humphry Davy at St. Bartholomew's hospital in Smithfield, London. Dixon’s compassion for patients’ comfort and safety is thought to have influenced Davy’s later development of nitrous oxide anesthesia.
> 
> I jumped when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Oh! You scared me.”

“My apologies.” Crane bowed slightly (something I will never, ever get tired of seeing). “If you are amenable, I had thought we might-” He stopped mid-sentence as he glanced up. “Can it be?” He looked at me, wide-eyed, as he gestured toward the painting. “I recall their faces from my visit to Lachlan Frederick’s estate, in my life before.”

“I think it’s them.” I nodded. “I never saw Joseph, but Grace looks the same as she did in my dream, only older.”

“They survived as well.” Crane grinned. “I am pleased to learn of it.”

“Seems like they did quite a bit better than survive.” I gestured toward the plaque. Crane leaned toward it to read (which took him about one second).

“It would seem their success was well-deserved.”

I glanced up at Grace again. Joseph had one hand resting on top of the chair where she sat, kind of protectively. _Looks like you guys were a team_. “I wonder if they hang out with my parents, now. Since Grace was all cool and collected, I bet she’d be a wiz at Uno.”

“You have never told me the particulars of this game. Is it similar to whist?” Crane raised an eyebrow. “I’ll have you know I was a terror at the whist table.”

_Hmm… do I need to take you to Vegas? With your memory, maybe you could be a terror there, too_.

We both looked over as the man and woman from earlier entered the room.

Crane put his hand on my elbow, turning us back toward the painting. “I do not believe we are spotted yet. Shall we press on? Otherwise, I fear I am to lecture here for the remainder of the afternoon.” He pretended like he was annoyed, but I knew better.

“I don’t mind. I know you’re proud of Jeremy and I don’t blame you. Any parent would be.”

“You are entirely too perceptive.” Crane smiled. “But I must insist that you do not weary yourself unduly.” He folded his arm around mine. “Toward that end, shall we see what is in the next room?”

*** Crane pov ***

As we wandered through the rest of the exhibit, I had to force myself not to lose track of time, lest the lieutenant overexert herself. In addition to the excitement of seeing my son’s work in all its splendor, it was also a joy to see the other patrons’ appreciation of it, how they would pause to remark on various features of the portraits or declaim their merits.

I still wished, with all my heart, that I had known my son, but evidence of his life well-lived consoled me greatly.

From recollection of the exhibit map I had glanced at earlier, I knew that we drew near the exit. The lieutenant had paused to admire a portrait of a mare and foal when a small case in the corner of the room caught my eye. As I approached, my jaw dropped and I felt my heart quicken.

> **Portrait of an Unknown Woman (1820-1830?)  
>  _-attributed to Jeremy Wolcott_**
> 
> Nothing is known of the subject of this portrait, which was discovered inside Wolcott’s watch case after his decease. From the style and confident brushwork, it is attributed to Wolcott; however, none in his family or studio witnessed him painting it. If the attribution is correct, it is Wolcott’s sole foray into miniature portraiture.
> 
> The sitter’s identity is yet another mystery in Wolcott’s already mysterious life. From what we can see of the woman's brocade gown and elaborate coiffure, she would appear to be a person of means. Was she friend or family? Perhaps a lover? She must have been dear to Wolcott, as he carried the watch with her portrait every day of his adult life.
> 
> **Pocket watch (Austrian, mid-eighteenth century)**
> 
> Wolcott was never without this 14 karat pocket timepiece, employing it frequently in his studio when blending pigments that required precise timing. As the watch is roughly 30 years older than Wolcott, he is presumed to have purchased it second-hand, perhaps as his work grew in popularity. The monogram on the reverse and masonic symbols on the face are thought to relate to the life of the previous owner, as Wolcott was never known to have practiced Masonry.
> 
> The interior, or “secret” compartment is a common feature of watches of this time period. It is in this compartment that Wolcott carried the portrait of the unknown woman at right. The names engraved on the lid of the compartment are those of Wolcott’s wife, Maisie, and their five children.
> 
> The watch can also be seen in the hands of the Wolcotts’ youngest son in the family group portrait in room 2.

I peered through the glass at the miniscule portrait, scarcely bigger than the pad of my thumb. Katrina’s hair was swept upward, in a different style than I recalled, and streaked with grey at the temples. Like the lieutenant’s ancestors, she appeared older than the last time I had seen her. Her expression was… definitely not smiling. Perhaps determined… even fierce? During our short time together, I had never seen the expression she wore in the portrait and wondered if it might have been hard-earned.

Her eyes (now with small lines at their outer corners, but with the same green tinge that I remembered) bore out at me from behind the glass. Did they hold reproach that I had not saved her? Remorse at her decision to return to Jeremy’s time? Or perhaps gratitude, that she knew our son and played some role in his life. At this thought, I felt envy blaze, but quelled it by reminding myself of the unspeakable hardship she must have endured, while pursued by the Four Who Speak As One.

Beside the portrait, on a small stand, was my old timepiece, in which Katrina’s portrait had abided during Jeremy’s long life. The stand held the case in an open position, so the compartment was visible, and there was a mirror beneath which reflected my monogram on the reverse.

In addition to preparing the lieutenant’s coffee (currently an abomination known as ‘decaf’) and averting the apocalypse, I regarded the study of history as my life’s work. Seeing the plethora of guesswork and supposition - much of it incorrect - that surrounded Jeremy’s life was a bit disconcerting. _Am I a student of history or fiction?_

The lieutenant’s hand on the small of my back brought me out of my reverie. “I wondered where that went,” she said softly.

“Yes… the source of so many troubles.” I gestured toward the case, then felt my face flush. “...meaning the timepiece, obviously.”

“I knew what you meant.” The lieutenant offered a wry smile. “It’s different now, though. It has his family’s names where the demon engraving used to be.”

“A distinct improvement.”

“You know… our memories of the old, demon version of the watch are the only place it exists anymore.”

“Likewise the journal Jeremy wrote whilst in the Taylors’ employ.”

The lieutenant’s brow furrowed for a moment. “It’s kind of weird to think about. Like, did all that stuff really happen?”

“I am your witness that these events transpired.” I put my arm around her waist, gave a small squeeze. (I was still a bit uncomfortable with public displays of affection.) “And I am most grateful they did for it brought us together.”

The lieutenant smiled up at me and I felt a familiar spark as her eyes met mine.

A moment later, a tour group entered the room, the guide’s lecture breaking the spell. As the familiar dates and events and events of my son’s life tumbled from the guide’s lips, the members of the group appeared mostly interested, some a bit bored, a few surreptitiously glancing at their phones (as I had seen students _occasionally_ do in my lectures.) And why not? It was only history, the recitation of so-called “facts”.

As the group moved on, the lieutenant and I turned back toward the glass case.

“We’ll never know how she did it, will we?” The lieutenant nodded toward Katrina’s portrait. “Saved everyone, I mean.”

“Likely not. It seems as if she hid their tracks most capably.”

Katrina’s gaze seemed to hypnotize me a bit. _What message do your eyes hold? Anger? Sadness? Triumph?_

I imagined Katrina sitting for the portrait, perhaps late at night, after Jeremy’s large family was snug in bed. My son yawning and rubbing his eyes as he bent over the tiny canvas, using a toothpick as a paintbrush to bring forth the set of her jaw, the whorls of her red hair.

_Or perhaps it was painted from memory. Or by another artist entirely._ I sighed, realizing we would never know.

The lieutenant leaned over the case for a moment, for a closer look. The gold band with a small diamond that I had purchased with my first earnings at the university gleamed on her finger. _Amidst the fictions we call facts, there is one thing certain and that is my love for you_.

Although I had considered the matter for months, my first proposal to the lieutenant was borne of impulse following a particularly passionate round of lovemaking in which she dug her nails into my back whilst moaning my given name. As we lay, still joined, and I regained my breath, I saw the soft look in her beautiful eyes and my heart overcame my reticence. I kissed her cheek softly and murmured, “Darling, will you marry me?”

When I felt her stiffen in my arms and saw her stunned expression, I wished desperately that I could unsay the words.  Then, following the longest moment imaginable, a great miracle occurred: the corners of the lieutenant’s mouth turned up and I felt her breath against my throat as she exhaled. She twined her arms ‘round my neck and murmured that she would “think about it.”

Feeling encouraged, I raised the stakes for the second attempt, to include flowers and supper at Sleepy Hollow’s finest inn. Bowing on one knee, I offered the ring as well as a speech I had rehearsed about my eternal love for her and the joy she brought me. (I felt it must be a passable effort as I could hear the woman at the next table sniffling.) When I finished, the lieutenant clasped my hand and said that she was “still thinking.” Her eyes met mine for a moment, swelling my heart with the emotion I saw there. Then she looked away, biting her lip.

A bit chagrined, I returned to ring to my pocket and clambered back into my chair. (Fortunately the gateau arrived just then, providing a most welcome distraction.)

Fearing my query might grow tiresome, I decided to bide my time.

Some months later, after several days and nights combating a particularly elusive shape-shifting demon, we found ourselves queuing at the pastry merchant. I removed a bit of vegetation from the lieutenant’s hair as I pointed out the sign behind the coffee preparation apparatus.

“Celebrate with doughnuts! Free doughnut holes on your anniversary.” The lieutenant yawned and stretched. “We’re missing out, huh?”

“It would seem.” I nodded, offering a mock-serious expression, to show I understood the joke.

“Like, for example…” The lieutenant put her head to one side, as she looked up at me, and her brow creased, as though considering something. “If we got married this weekend, we’d only have to wait a year for free doughnut holes.”

I felt my features rearrange themselves into... I know not what expression (hope? disbelief?) as the portent of the moment swept over me. “That is, ahem…” I stammered, swallowed, as I struggled to regain my composure. “That is to say, you are correct.” My hand trembled as it reached for hers.

“What are we waiting for, then?” Her fingers folded around mine and she grinned up at me.

_But… how long have I been woolgathering?_ I shook my head, clearing it, for the moment, of this much-cherished memory. “We should go. I fear you must be tiring.”

“I’m fine, Crane. I promise.”

I recalled, then, the ultimate weapon in this battle of wills. “And do not forget there may be a surfeit of traffic, as we depart the city on a Friday afternoon.”

The lieutenant pivoted from the glass case. “You’re right. Let’s hit the road.”

As we moved away, I looked back, over my shoulder, at Katrina’s portrait. The expression in her eyes was as inscrutable as ever. _But perhaps that is nothing new, for when did I ever understand what you desired of me?_

***

“Want to drive?”

I felt myself recoiling a bit as the lieutenant proffered the ring of keys. “Need we route our journey via the freeway? Perhaps the byways might prove more soothing?"

“You know you need to practice driving on the freeway,” she sighed. “But maybe Friday afternoon traffic isn’t the best time.”

“An excellent point,” I said, embarrassed at the relief I could hear in my voice, then froze as realization struck me. “Lieutenant, are you offering me an ‘out’?”

“Pretty much.” She shrugged. “You looked so freaked that I felt bad.”

“Pray lend me your keys.” I put out my hand. “It would be exceedingly ungentlemanly of me to permit you to overexert yourself in your condition.”

“You’re not ‘permitting’ me, Crane. It was my choice.” The lieutenant gave me a pointed look. “And you can say ‘pregnant’. It’s not a dirty word or anything.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this before they released the (unbelievably awesome) clip of Crane drifting Abbie’s car. So... can we maybe say this chapter’s showing him as a nervous driver is pre-canon rather than non-canon? :)
> 
> This is the racehorse portrait that Abbie and Crane see when they walk into the gallery: http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/george-stubbs-whistlejacket  
> This is the grey horse that Abbie likes: http://www.bbc.co.uk/arts/yourpaintings/paintings/joseph-smyth-esquire-lieutenant-of-whittlebury-forest-north5204
> 
> The horse racing facts are from Wikipedia.


	25. Chapter 25

***Abbie pov***

“What was that small red vehicle? I believe it was the sort one often sees in the hamlet of Larchmont?”

“The Porsche?”

“Did you but observe the incompetence of its driver? I had illuminated the arrow lantern for some minutes before, yet he or she migrated to the starboard lane at the precise moment I endeavored to do so.”

I had to smile at hearing Crane complain about being cut off by an obnoxious driver in a sports car. _You’re starting to get the 21st century thing_.

“They were pretty rude, but it happens.” I shrugged. “You did good, though: stayed calm, didn’t wreck. A lot of folks from this century wouldn’t have done as well.”

He smiled and I thought I saw his chest puff out a little. “Thank you lieutenant. Your keys.” He bowed as he handed them to me.

“Thanks.” I let my fingertips brush across his palm as I took them, feeling something warm inside me at the look he gave me. _Maybe later, when I’m not starving._

Now that I wasn’t feeling nauseated all the time, I wanted to eat everything that didn’t get up and run away. Especially if it had melted cheese on it. “Let’s open that pizza. The smell was making me want to eat it right out of the box when we were in the car.”

***

After we ate (well, after one of us ate and the other chowed down) I offered to help Crane with the dishes. As usual, he insisted I rest. This time, I didn’t protest much; my feet ached from all the standing at the museum today. I sat on the sofa and took my boots off, then put my legs up, leaning back against the cushions at the end of the sofa. _Might have to quit wearing heels soon. Ugh_.

To take my mind off the horribleness of that thought, I turned on the TV and began flipping through the channels. “Did you finish that thing you were translating?”

“To which ‘thing’ do you refer?” The dishes clicked together as Crane set them in the cabinets.

“The long thing you were telling me about - the one in the weird dialect.” _Oooh! History’s Mysteries is on next. Haven’t seen one of these in a while_.

“That describes a number of ‘things’ I attempt to decipher.”

“The one with the writing that looks cool. Did you say it was Old Norse?”

“Ah, that.” I moved my feet back, so Crane could sit at the other end of the sofa. His fingertips touched the tops of my feet. “May I?”

“You don’t even have to ask.” I grinned as he rested my feet in his lap.

“The Norse translation progresses.” Crane’s long fingers slipped underneath my pant legs, brushing feather-light against my ankles as they drew my socks downward. “Its completion is not required for some weeks, so there is ample opportunity.”

Crane’s hands felt warm as he massaged the balls of my feet. “How fared your ‘desk job’ today? I hope you found it less abhorrent?"

“I’m not sure looking at reports all day is ever going to be my thing.” I felt myself make a face. “But I can get through it for the next five months. After that, I think I might be ready to get back out there.”

Crane’s lips pressed together, his hands stilled. “You need not work at all, you know. My compensation at the university could amply provide for our expenses.”

“Crane…” _I know you mean well and I appreciate the offer but…_ “I’m pretty sure being a desk jockey isn’t for me and I’m not sure if not working is either. I promise I’m keeping an open mind but we’ll have to wait and see once Baby Crane gets here.”

Crane sighed as his fingers began to massage my feet again. “I imagine there are a deal of things we shall have to ‘wait and see’ about once our child arrives.”

“True that.” I wiggled my toes as he alternated lighter and deeper touches, loosening the muscles. “I don’t know about you, but I’m so clueless about babies that I don’t even know all the stuff I’m clueless about.”

Crane gave me a look. “I expect you are far more knowledgeable than you realize, as I am aware you read widely on this subject and have questioned Mrs. Irving most closely on the care and feeding of little ones.”

We both looked at the TV as the _History’s Mysteries_ music played. “Too funny. This is the one about Revelation. Think we’re in it?” _How about we change the subject?_

“Let us hope not, for I am far too modest for such infamy.” Crane looked at me mischievously as he said it, the corners of his mouth turning up.

“Puh-leeze!” I rolled my eyes. Crane grinned at me as the pads of his thumbs worked the cord of muscle in the arches of my feet. _Oh yes, like that._ "Mmm..." I closed my eyes for a second.

“That is the spot?” His thumbs circled.

“Mmm hmmm… right there.” Crane’s hands worked slowly over my feet and ankles, finding all the tender spots, as we watched the show.

“They got some of this right but other parts are making me feel ripped off. Like, where was the devouring our enemies with fire stuff? Because I would have been all over that.”

“Perhaps it was a metaphor for firearms?” Crane’s brow creased. “Personally, I should have quite liked the alluded power over the sky and waters."

“That would be totally convenient. We’d never have to worry about rain if we wanted to go on a picnic.” Beneath my pant legs, Crane’s fingertips brushed upward along the backs of my calves, stroked the hollow behind my knees. As our eyes met, I moved one foot upward a few inches on his lap, flexed gently. I could hear him inhale as his nostrils flared.

I flashed back to the day I met Crane, in the jail cell, when we were like two prizefighters sizing each other up. _If someone had told me how this would all turn out, that I would feel this way about you… hell, that I would feel this way about anyone… I would have laughed and asked what they were smoking._

When I flexed my foot again, Crane’s eyes closed and he leaned his head back against the top of the sofa cushions. His lips were slightly parted and I could see his Adam’s apple bob.

_He looks so vulnerable like that_. As I leaned forward, I moved my foot out of the way, replacing it with my hand as I pressed my lips to his.

Crane made a soft “mmm” sound as his lips molded to mine. When we broke apart, his eyes fluttered open and he looked at me from their corners as I moved my hand slowly, deliberately. He gave me the small smile that I loved - like he was thinking of a secret that only we two knew about. _When did I get this attached to you? How did it happen? It’s so not a ‘me’ thing to do._

Crane put his arm around me, began to pull me toward him again. When I stood up instead, he looked confused. “What do you-”

As my hands moved to the button of my jeans, I saw something blaze in Crane’s eyes that made me wiggle my hips as I pushed my pants downward over my legs. Crane looked up at me from under his eyelashes as he rested his hands on my hips, guiding me as I moved to straddle his lap. (Crane isn’t that hard on the eyes. Now that I was pregnant it was like I kept… noticing that fact. Basically, I couldn’t keep my hands off him.)

My hands stroked his cheeks, angling his face for my kiss. As my tongue glided against his, I felt a familiar spark flare in the pit of my belly along with… a complicated knot of emotions in my chest (desire, trust, respect… a bunch of others I was still trying to figure out names for) that I had decided, years ago, must be what love felt like. My hands cradled the back of Crane’s head then, a moment later, I felt his long fingers against mine, helping me untie his ponytail.

“Much better,” I whispered as I felt the sleek strands twine around my fingers. I leaned in for another kiss, tipping Crane's head back as his hands roamed over my hips, my ass, his fingertips dipping just inside the waist of my panties.

“I am so pleased you approve.” I shivered as I felt his breath against my earlobe, then his teeth against the cord at the side of my throat. _Oh yes, I highly approve_.

Crane’s eyes tracked my hands as they moved to the hem of my shirt, pulled it off over my head. His hands felt warm on mine as he reached behind me to help me unhook my maternity bra. (It was the most granny-looking thing imaginable but I needed the support.)

My skin tingled under his fingertips as he drew the ugly thing down my arms. (He chuckled when I threw over my shoulder.)

He sat back and I could see his eyes sweep over my fuller breasts and belly, which was just starting to swell over the waist of my underwear. “I’m getting fat, huh?” I patted my tummy with one hand, saying what I figured he was probably thinking.

“Decidedly not.” Crane’s voice sounded low, husky, sending a shiver up my spine. His hands felt deliciously warm as they moved to palm my breasts, thumbing the nipples. “You are most enticing, as always.”

My breasts were so sensitive now, I couldn't hold back a low groan as I let my head dip back, baring my throat. I felt Crane’s lips there a moment later, then his teeth nibbling at the muscle where my neck and shoulder joined.

“You should take this off. Now.” I tugged at his shirt, where it was tucked tightly into his pants.

“Of course. How ridiculous of me.”  His arms moved quickly to untuck his shirt, then pulled it over his head, dropping it on the floor like he had forgotten it existed.

_Not bad. At all._ I let my eyes, then my hands, travel slowly over the lean planes of his chest, feeling the crisp hairs tickle my palms, the taut muscle twitch beneath my fingertips. His breathing quickened as my hands brushed over his nipples, then glided lower, over his belly, to the button fly thing on his pants.

“You should definitely take these off, too.” I rolled my hips against him, just a little, feeling him hard beneath me.

His eyes glittered almost black as they met mine. “As my lady commands.” I scooted backward a little bit on his lap, helping him unbutton, then rose on my knees as he lifted his behind off the sofa, to slip his pants off. I settled back onto his lap, the insides of my knees pressing against his hipbones as I gently folded my hand around him. His skin there felt warm against my palm and velvety soft over the hardness. As I moved my hand, he closed his eyes and sighed. I was so busy watching his expressions (eyebrows drawn together, lips slightly parted) that I didn’t notice as his hand sneaked between us, finding just the right spot, over my underwear. “Mmm…” I wiggled my hips at the sensation, enjoying the extra friction the fabric created between me and his fingertips.

Desire built in me as Crane’s fingers sped up. Matching the pace he set, I increased the speed of my hand. I could see a light sheen of perspiration on his forehead as his chest rose and fell with his panted breaths. “Abbie,” he moaned, his voice sounding hoarse.

Crane made a sound low in his throat then quickly put his hand over mine, stopping it. The callouses on his palms felt scratchy as he slipped his hands up my back, supporting me as he rolled me onto the sofa.

He lay down beside me, pressing kisses against my throat, my breasts. I moaned as his lips closed over my nipple, feeling his tongue flick at the sensitive flesh. His beautiful hands caressed my belly tenderly then, as he moved lower, his beard tickled as he placed a gentle kiss there.

There was a question in his eyes as his fingers slipped inside the waist of my underwear. I smiled and raised my hips, then shivered as he slipped my panties down, his hands gliding feather-light over my legs.

I scooted up on the cushions on the armrest, giving Crane more room as he moved between my legs. His fingers stroked the backs of my knees as his lips moved along the inside of my thigh, his teeth nibbling at the muscle.

As he found his destination, Crane glanced up at me. The smoldering look he gave me made my heard thud against my ribs as he extended his tongue, stroking the bundle of nerves, teasing me, before moving lower. His mouth felt hot as he sucked gently at the tender folds, his tongue swirling inside me in slow, unhurried strokes. I began to feel pressure low in my belly, prickling at the inside of my thighs. As the pressure built, I rolled my hips against him, trying to direct him to the area above, now aching for his attention.

I heard and felt him chuckle, a low vibration inside me, that increased the pressure but did nothing to relieve it. “Dammit Crane, please.” My fingers twined in his hair as I ground my hips more urgently against his wicked tongue.  

“Since you said ‘please’...” I could hear the laughter in his voice as his hands slid up the backs of my thighs, lifting them over his shoulders.

“You had better not be laughing because there is so going to be payback for-” The words turned into a low moan in my throat as I felt his lips - finally - in the place I wanted them most.

I couldn’t see what he was doing, obviously, but it was exactly what I needed. The muscles on the insides of my thighs quivered as my hips twitched helplessly against him, my hands petting his hair as the pleasure built relentlessly, finally spilling over as all my thinking ran out.

As I came to, I felt limp and boneless. Crane’s beard tickled the inside of my thigh as he pressed another kiss there.

He wiped his mouth quickly with the back of his hand, then scooted up beside me. His smirk was unmistakable. “You’re looking pleased with yourself right now.”

“Is it warranted?” He raised an eyebrow.

In lieu of an answer, my hands cradled the back of his head, holding him in place as I tasted myself on his lips, his tongue.

When I felt his hands on my shoulders, starting to turn me onto my back, I moved my leg up over his hipbone, then pressed downward with my hips, grinning a challenge as I rolled on top of him.  He lifted himself on one elbow, kissing me deeply before settling beneath me, his hands caressing the curve of my hips.

Crane held his breath as I positioned him, then sighed as I sank downward, easily, in one stroke. I rotated my hips as I adjusted to the feeling of fullness, the closeness with my husband.

Crane’s hand stroked my cheek. “Darling,” he purred. “Treasure.”

I laced my fingers with his, turning my face slightly to press my lips to his palm, his words turning my insides to mush. (I had never been one for pet names, especially old fashioned ones… until I heard them in that deep, velvety voice.)

His hips twitched beneath me, changing the angle slightly. I hummed my approval as his hands moved to cup my breasts, his thumbs rubbing the sensitive tips.

We found a rhythm easily as our hips rocked together and I felt the sense of pressure, of something waiting to burst, begin to build again inside me. I think I moaned his name (Ichabod) somewhere in there as we quickened the pace. Like he was reading my mind, I felt Crane's hand move to the place where we joined, rubbing gently.

I braced my palms against his chest as I rose on my knees, nearly unsheathing him. I could hear his panted breaths as he rose to meet me on my descent, his eyes heavy-lidded as they met mine.

The tension inside me built as I rode him, getting closer to the edge. “Are you-” Crane whispered.

“Getting there.” I nodded sharply, a quick bob of my head. Crane’s thrusts grew ragged as our bodies collided. His hands clutched at my hips (not that I needed any urging) as I matched his strokes. My eyes locked with Crane’s just as he made a sound low in his throat and I felt my own release. The intimacy of his gaze - the love and trust I saw in his half-closed eyes - made me tremble as the tide of sensation from our lovemaking swept over me.

My hands gripped Crane’s shoulders as I rode out the aftershocks, before flopping over onto his chest. As I lay there, I could feel his muscles unclench and his breath against my hair.

After a minute, I slipped off and moved to lay my head against his chest. Crane made a sound of protest as we separated, then his arms wrapped around me, holding me close. I snuggled against him, hearing the steady rhythm of his heart, beneath the scar. His fingers traced across my forehead as he moved a lock of my hair behind my ear.

“In another few months, we’re going to have to be careful where we do this. Once there’s a playpen in here, I mean.” I lifted my head to look at him. The warm smile he gave me matched my own.

“My reading has given me to understand we must employ all our wit and skill if we are to best the next challenge that awaits us.”

“Yeah,” I chuckled. “The apocalypse was just the warm-up. Having a kid is what’s really scary.”


	26. Chapter 26

***Crane pov***

Later, following our nightly ablutions, the lieutenant and I lay like spoons in our bed. I wrapped my arm around her, my fingers inadvertently brushing against the scar at her bosom.

“We have matching scars… sort of,” She yawned. “How cute is that?”

“I… fear I cannot joke about this.” I nestled my cheek against her hair, breathing in its sweet fragrance as my hand caressed the swell of her belly, assuring myself (again) that she was still here and very much alive. “Not yet. You were nearly lost to me that day.”

“Well, technically...” she signed, “we both died. And, if Jenny hadn’t been there, we would have stayed that way, too.” She turned toward me, in my arms. “But maybe we shouldn’t talk about this?” I could not see her face, in the darkness, but could hear concern in her voice.

“It is fine.” _I am told I am much recovered; let us find out._ “Particularly as the entire debacle was my doing,”

“Crane, no, we’ve been over this-”  I felt her hands on my cheeks, then stroking my hair back from my brow.

“...because I opened the portal and then _stupidly_ allowed the hellspawn to separate us.”

Abbie moved away and I heard her fumbling for the bedside lamp. “Seriously, Crane, no. I...” But then her voice seemed to dim as memory overtook me.

***

In my mind’s eye, I saw the lieutenant as she discharged her rifle into the horde of imp demons that swarmed about her. Her gunfire was barely audible over the cacophony of their shrieks.

In the moment I had glanced away toward the lieutenant, the horseman attempted to gain advantage as he feinted, then thrust the point of his sword toward my chest. I blocked his strike, but weakly. We had been at this for hours and there were only we two against… a seeming infinity of tireless evil that poured from the gateway to the underworld I had impulsively opened.

The horseman advanced as I reversed, fell back, moved even further away from the lieutenant. Just then, the gunshots stopped. _Abbie?_

My eyes darted toward her again. Her hands clenched as she attempted to pry the magazine from the firearm. For the first time that day, I saw fear in her gaze as she looked up at me, mouthing, “It’s jammed.”

By reflex (skill having left me some time ago), I parried another blow from the horseman just as the imp demon nearest the lieutenant leapt forward, its claws extended. As I riposted the horseman’s attack, I heard the impact of the lieutenant’s rifle stock meeting leathery flesh. Blinking at the smoke, she crouched, holding the butt of the rifle before her as the next demon came forward… and another moved behind, in a flanking maneuver that I feared she did not see.

“Lieutenant! Behind you!” As the horseman lunged, I flèched clumsily, attempting to move past him to aid the lieutenant. In a stroke of luck, the horseman overbalanced as he blocked, stumbling to one knee.

_This shall be my only chance_. Whilst I drew back my arm for a killing blow, the lieutenant’s movement caught my eye. She spun on her heel, thrusting her rifle’s stock toward the brute behind her. But not quickly enough. Catching her mid-turn, the demon clutched its arm about her throat while its fellow leapt forward, its claws tearing at her bosom, just over her heart.

The horseman and his hordes faded away; all that remained was my wife and her strangled cries as her small, dear hands tore at the demon’s arm.

I covered the distance between us in an instant, swinging my blade in an arc toward the demon that clawed at my wife. The force of the blow was such that the hellspawn was nearly bisected, the two halves slipping apart for an instant, before it vanished in a cloud of acrid smoke. As its fellow disappeared, the other hellspawn released Abbie and leapt at me. I quickly ran him through as the lieutenant fell to her knees.

The lieutenant lay on the ground and there was blood (more blood than seemed possible). I felt a bit faint and I believe I dropped my sword, at this point, as my hands shook so violently I could no longer hold it.

Abbie grimaced, her eyes squeezed shut in seeming agony, but she opened them for a moment to look up at me. “Crane?” She whispered, one trembling arm reaching toward me as I started to kneel beside her… just as the horseman’s blade stabbed savagely into my back.

The pain was blinding. Since my death, I had mercifully forgotten that such pain existed. As I toppled forward, I remembered to angle my descent sideways so as not to crush the lieutenant beneath me.

As I writhed on my belly in the dirt, struggling to remain conscious against the tide of relentless agony, I heard the demon horde cackling as I watched the horseman’s boots approach. His stench of sulfur and decay assailed my nostrils as he stood over me, his hands on his hips (gloating, I presume). I could see the nails in his boot as it kicked at my shoulder, flipping me onto my back. My wound’s rough impact with the earth brought with it a fresh round of torment.

I attempted to warn him, in the strongest possible language, that no harm must befall the lieutenant, lest he have me to reckon with. But all that proceeded from my mouth was a peculiar gurgling sound.

The hellspawn grew quiet as the horseman flourished his axe. A strange calm came over me as I watched him raise it above his shoulders, his arms fully extended as though preparing for a mighty blow. A moment later, I heard the snap of a bowstring and saw an arrow pierce the horseman’s bosom.

_Well, that is… quaint, I suppose. How many times has the lieutenant shot you? Surely that number is in the hundreds, by now.  Of what good is an arrow?_

A moment later, a blue flame emanated from the arrow, creeping slowly outward, across the horseman’s chest, then down his limbs until it sheathed his entire form.

_But perhaps I was a bit hasty in my earlier supposition._

As it spread, the horseman convulsed where he stood, his hands beating at the flame as though trying to smother it. (Upon dropping his axe, there was a whistle as it split the air, followed by a blow when it cleaved the earth, landing blade-downward inches from my skull).

Suddenly, the blue fire flashed, then pulsed outward from the horseman like lightning, striking the other hellspawn and illuminating them in the same eerie blue glow that sheathed the horseman. For a moment, their shrieks were deafening. Then there was a loud crack, followed by the familiar foul-smelling smoke. And silence.

_Lieutenant?_ I turned my head, looking about for her.

A moment later I heard… Ms. Jenny’s voice. _Ms. Jenny is here. How odd_. I meant to consider this, but it seemed much too taxing.

“...medevac immediately, by the aqueduct at the state park…” _Why does Ms. Jenny appear blurred? Why does everything appear blurred, for that matter? But, most importantly, I must assist the lieutenant._

My arms scrabbled at the damp ground as I struggled to rise onto my elbows, feeling another stab from my wound as I did so.

“Stop it, Crane! You’re making it bleed even more!” I heard Ms. Jenny’s voice and felt something push my shoulder downward again. _Ah. My wound hemorrhages. Lovely. But how does the lieutenant fare? Perhaps I can reach her..._

I felt a hand at the pulse point of my neck. I assumed it was Ms. Jenny, but was more interested in attempting to move my arm toward my wife.

“...pulse is weak and thready.”

_Does Ms. Jenny sound worried?_ I knew I was dreaming, then, as Ms. Jenny never worried.

“...repeat, medevac is needed immediately...”

Finally, my hand found its goal. I did not need to see to recognize the lieutenant’s palm as my fingers folded around it. I attempted to give a small squeeze, to reassure her, but was unsure if I felt the pressure returned.

The pain seemed to lessen then, like water receding from a shore, and a wave of immense fatigue overcame me. _I shall rest my eyes for a moment, then arise and assist Ms. Jenny. Obviously, I begin to recover as the pain has greatly improved._

***

When I opened my eyes again, I seemed to be at a great elevation, overlooking the scene below. Ms. Jenny appeared very small, like a child’s toy, as she pressed one hand to the lieutenant’s wound while using the other hand to hold her phone to her ear. (I was too far away to overhear what she said.)

Blood covered Ms. Jenny’s hands and formed a halo around us where it spilled onto the ground. I knew this should be worrisome but… it all seemed so impersonal and far away, like a play viewed from the cheap seats.

Before I saw her, I felt her presence a few feet away.

“Lieutenant?”

“I’m right here.” I glanced over, thrilled to see her uninjured. She wore the same raiment as in the scene below, but it appeared freshly cleaned and pressed. A light breeze stirred her hair as she smiled at me. I started toward her, my arms held forth… then stopped. _Perhaps her apparition is the demons’ trickery_. “Is it really you?” My arms fell to my sides again.

“What?” She looked puzzled. “Oh… you think this is another dream?”

I nodded. _Would a demon acknowledge its deceit?_   _No… I must be wary. I have been fooled before_.

Her brow creased. “Let me think…OK.” She rubbed her palms together. “For starters, you pretend like your favorite drink at Starbucks is black espresso but when they have the pumpkin spice latte, you have one every day. With extra whip.” (She appeared to suppress a grin, at the last.)

_I suppose I am guilty of that._ I felt a bit taken aback, as I had not expected to be put on the defensive. _All the more reason to remain on my guard_. “It is a seasonal item; one must partake whilst the opportunity avails. It is most obvious that you are guessing.” _Are demons aware of Starbucks’ menu de cuisine?_

“Guessing. Seriously?” She raised an eyebrow as she gave me a pointed look. “You met the guy who helped you get a job at the university when you were a waiter at Nancy’s. He ordered the pumpkin pie and somehow you guys went from there to a whole discussion about the pilgrims and John Smith and all that stuff.”

_I have you now!_ “Ha!” I held up one finger. “Any of the waitstaff at Nancy’s might have informed of this. Your attempt to bluff becomes ever clearer.” I tipped my head back, availing myself of my height to peer down my nose in what I hoped was hauteur.   _Not a few of the customers might also have retold this event. It had been a heated discussion._

“Oh, I’m just getting warmed up.” She took a step toward me, her eyes boldly meeting mine as though daring me to stop her. “You started watching telenovelas to practice Spanish but then you got hooked and spent two weekends binge-watching _Morelia_ on Netflix.”

“It was a popular show.” I huffed, my hands beginning to twitch. “And the story of Morelia and Jose Enrique is quite engrossing. You are still guessing.” _But how would a demon know the period of time, as I had scarcely departed the settee for four days._

She rolled her eyes, looking precisely like the lieutenant when she was exasperated (an expression with which I was familiar). “Fine. Let’s go for broke: Your eyes tear up when you hear _Ode to Joy_. For my birthday last year, we went to Red Lobster and you threw shade at the old timey decor but then ate so many biscuits I was afraid you’d get sick. When you were little, you had a pony named Crumpet. You snore sometimes.” She ticked the items off on her fingers as she said each one.

“How would anyone but the lieutenant know all this?” I whispered, voicing my thoughts as I struggled to remain neutral.

“Mmm hmm. You’re finally getting there, huh?” She stepped toward me again, so that we were standing very close. As she looked up at me, I could see the challenge leave her eyes, replaced by a familiar warm look. _It would be impossible for an evil being to mimic such a look_.

I brushed a lock of hair off her shoulder. “But do you not wish to assure yourself of my identity?” The corners of her mouth turned up, as mine did, and she edged closer, resting her palms against my chest.

“I’m about to.” Her hands slipped upward to twine about my neck, pulling me forward as I bent toward her. As her lips pressed to mine, tenderly, then with demand, I lost track of time, the mystery of our surroundings, of everything but her. _Whatever fortune holds for us, I shall bear it gladly, as long as you are with me_.

Finally, we broke apart, my arms still holding her, as I could not bring myself to let her go just yet. “You are _certainly_ Abbie.”

“Told you.” She grinned. “But… where are we?”

Her words brought me back to the present. “I confess I… do not know.”

We both looked about. Before us lay the distant battle scene, far below and in failing light as evening came on. Behind was a brilliant light shrouded in thick mist. (The light was an intense gold color - like a sunrise, but somehow I was able to peer into it without injury.)

“I remember that light,” she said dreamily, resting her head on my shoulder as I pressed a kiss to her hair. “I saw it flash - just for a second - when I was coming back from the place I saw my parents.”

“Perhaps it is the Other Side?” The words tumbled from my lips before I properly considered them but, upon hearing them, I felt their truth.

The lieutenant’s lifted her head from my shoulder to look up at me. Her eyes were wide (as I am sure mine were as well).

“So if we go there, we…” Her voice trailed off as she gestured toward the mist. She looked uncertain… or as though she would like very much to be wrong.

I took a deep breath, released it, wishing other words would come to me. But failed. “And when they shall have finished their testimony, the beast that ascendeth out of the bottomless pit shall make war against them, and shall overcome them, and kill them.”

“Right on time, huh?” She gave a forced-sounding laugh and I felt her tremble as my arms tightened around her, pulling her closer, wishing to never let her go.

We both turned toward the golden mist. Its light seemed to glow brighter, now, as the scene behind us dimmed. A faint breeze wafted from it, smelling of dew on the grass in early spring, when everything seemed possible.

Just then, from the corner of my eye, I saw a swirl of motion as a harsh white light shone behind us. The lieutenant must have glimpsed it also because we both spun ‘round to observe… as an aircraft descended past our line of vision to the scene below. (It was the sort of craft that hovered over the roadways whilst traffic was at a standstill.)

“A helicopter.”

The lieutenant broke from our embrace to peer downward at the scene below. The beams of the aircraft’s lanterns swept over the ground, catching Ms. Jenny in their glare. She appeared to be engaged in a peculiar action involving rhythmic presses to the lieutenant’s sternum. As the lights passed over, she leapt up and began waving her arms, as though attempting to capture the craft’s attention. She appeared to be shouting, but I could not hear what she said.

“Jenny…” the lieutenant gasped. I clutched at her arm as she stepped forward, fearing she might fall. (A mist swirled about our feet, making it impossible to see the precipice upon which we stood, much less its edge.)

A woman leapt from the aircraft as it set down. She wore what appeared to be a uniform of some sort, with badges on the shirt. Her posture was hunched over as she ran toward our bodies (likely to give clearance for the lethal-looking blades that whirled above). The lieutenant lay perfectly still as the woman moved swiftly to apply various instruments from the valise she carried. Ms. Jenny stood at the lieutenant’s feet, her hands over her mouth, as she watched the woman work. Even at our great distance, I could see the emotion in her expressive eyes.

I noticed, then, that a man seemed to be performing a similar ritual upon my person, where I lay sprawled below. (I recognized his stethoscope instrument, from television.) The man moved the instrument about on my chest, in what I assumed was an effort to locate my heartbeat.

The woman paused to speak to Jenny, then, and I could see her recoil. She shook her head and I could see her lips form the word “No” as the woman resumed her efforts on the lieutenant’s small form.

“We have go back.” Abbie tugged at my hand, surprisingly strong as she pulled me toward the edge. “Come on. We can’t leave Jenny.”

“But… but...” I dug in my heels as my gaze fell on our forms below, observed my awkward, sprawl, how still and small the lieutenant appeared. “Can we, Lieutenant? Is such a thing possible?” I swept my free hand toward the scene below us, watching her gaze follow.

“Oh…” she sighed, then grimaced. “We don’t look so good.”

The woman withdrew, from her valise, a device I recognized from my stay in Tarrytown Psychiatric. She held it to the light as she removed its cap, then tapped the barrel with her forefinger.

“That is a hypodermic,” I said, wincing. “Those _hurt_.”

I gasped as the woman suddenly plunged the needle into Abbie’s bosom. Beside me, the lieutenant startled as her hand clutched at her chest, just over her heart. “Crane?” She blinked rapidly, her brow furrowed as she looked up at me. “What’s happening?” Her eyes squeezed shut as her posture curled inward and she squeezed my hand tightly.

I moved to wrap my arm about her… but grasped only air.

“Abbie?” I looked about me, turning in a circle, but there was only silence and the swirling mist, the golden light growing ever brighter behind me. "Abbie?!"

I felt myself tremble as my gaze dipped to the scene below, fearing what I should see. The man and woman huddled together over the lieutenant. Their backs were to me, so I could not see precisely what engaged them, but their arms seemed to be working furiously.

Ms. Jenny’s bosom heaved as she watched the man and woman at their work. At once, her hand grasped the lieutenant’s ankle and I could see her mouth, “Abbie”.

The man and woman stepped back. My heart thudded against my ribs as I saw the lieutenant’s limbs twitch, then she convulsed and appeared to cough.

The woman looked toward Jenny and, as she spoke, I could see both women’s shoulders relax. Ms. Jenny smiled, inclining her head as she observed the woman placing a translucent mask over the lower part of the lieutenant’s face. (I knew, from television, that this was the point where the physician turned toward the huddled family and told them, in a hushed yet triumphant tone, that their loved one would survive.)

Then their gazes turned toward me (or my body, rather). Ms. Jenny frowned and bit her lip as the man began removing the various instruments they had placed on my person. His movements were unhurried, as though there were no great urgency.

“No.” I heard myself whisper. It seemed so grossly unfair. _Did we not do everything asked of us? And this is to be our reward?_

I felt frozen, unable to stir except for my clenching hands, as I watched them move the lieutenant to a stretcher, the man and woman lifting her carefully at her shoulders and knees. They proceeded to hoist the stretcher, carrying my wife away from me, across the bloodstained ground toward the aircraft.

The man climbed into the craft first, followed by Jenny and the woman, who carried the other end of the stretcher. At the moment the crown of the lieutenant’s head disappeared from my sight, I knew what I must do.

Shuffling my feet to ensure I did not move beyond the edge of the precipice, I moved back as far as I dared. Taking a deep breath, I looked about me one last time, then ran toward the darkness. My breaths and running footsteps sounded very loud in the silence as I bolted forward, then leapt from the edge.

I had some vague notion of attempting to land on my person, reuniting flesh and spirit by force of gravity. Instead, as soon as my boots left the cliff, it was as if I had been thrown headlong against a stone wall. I gasped at the shock and the pain (dear God, the pain) that emanated from the wound on my back where the horseman's blade had penetrated.

Desperate to relieve the agony, I must have groaned as I arched upward, attempting to lift my injury from its contact with the earth. As I did, I heard running footsteps, growing louder.

“The pirate guy’s not dead! Get the case out again!”

A moment later, I wished I had kept silent as the man and woman’s hands seemed to be everywhere, poking and prodding mercilessly. I attempted to swat them away, only to find my hands pinioned at my sides. Struggling against the bonds, I barked an epithet, then shouted, “Lieutenant!” _I must go to her_.

The woman’s hand pressed against my shoulder, surprisingly strong. “Settle down. We’re taking you to your wife.” I recognized her accent as that of New Jersey. Ms. Jenny appeared at her shoulder. “Abbie’s in the helicopter.” She frowned as her gaze swept over me. “She’s in better shape than you are right now, so you need to do what the EMTs tell you.”

“Thank you, Ms. Jenny. For saving us.”

“You guys owe me one now, huh?” she grinned.

I heard myself make a wheezing sound as I attempted to formulate a speech about how we owed her a great deal more than “one” but, rather, our very lives. Just then, the woman pressed one of the translucent masks over the lower part of my face, muffling my voice.

“You can tell me later.” Ms. Jenny said. “Just get better now, OK?”

I nodded as she stepped backward. (The mask made a soft hissing sound and seemed to aid in breathing, which was most welcome.) The man and woman knelt beside me, positioning themselves at my shoulders and knees. I heard the man make a sound of effort as they lifted me onto the stretcher, then carried me aboard the aircraft.

The inside of the craft was smaller than it appeared from the outside. Instruments covered the walls. (I should have liked to examine them… later.) Finally, my gaze fell upon the sight I most desired to see.

The lieutenant lay on a stretcher beside me, a few feet away. She turned toward me, her eyes fluttering open. Her hand trembled as she lifted it toward me.

The woman promptly tucked it against her side again. “You guys can do the tearful reunion thing when we get to Albany General. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

The lieutenant nodded slightly, her gaze meeting mine before she closed her eyes again.

The blades of the aircraft producing a loud chopping sound as they gathered speed. A moment later, I felt a jolt, then upward motion. _We have left the earth_. This thought terrified me more than the prospect of death had, minutes before.

The man and woman rushed toward me as I struggled against my bonds again, panic pulsing through me as I heard myself emitting loud, incoherent sounds of protest. I felt one of the accursed hypodermics jab at my hip. A moment later, sleep overcame me.  

***

“Crane?” The lieutenant’s hand stroked my cheek.

I gasped, felt myself startle, like a dream in which one awakes from falling. _What? Where are we?_

“We’re home, we’re safe. Everything’s OK.” Her hand felt cool as it cupped my cheek, which seemed to be drenched in sweat.

My muscles felt painfully tense as I came back to myself. “It happened again, did it not?”

“Yes but… it was just for a couple minutes… and it’s been a really long time, since the last time it happened.” Her voice was soft as she smoothed back a lock of hair that lay plastered to my forehead. “You’re getting better, it’s just taking a little while. Come here.” I felt her arms enfold me.

I held her close as my heart ceased pounding against my ribs and I felt my breathing calm. “You remember none of it? Still?” My words sounded a bit muffled, against her shoulder.

“Nope. The last thing I remember was kicking demon butt. And, from what you’ve told me, that’s all I want to remember.” My gaze swept up to meet hers, as she lifted my chin.

“That stuff you were saying earlier about it being all your fault. You know you’re all wrong about that... right?"

I made a face as responses tumbled over each other in my mind. “Yes… and no.” In truth, I still did not know what I could have done differently. It seemed as if I had been forced onto a path of action by events I had no control over… as we both had, from the moment we met seven-odd-years ago.

“Repeat. You’re wrong.” She looked at me seriously, her brows drawn together.

“Apologies.” I felt myself exhale the breath I had not been aware I was holding. “I know you have told me all this many times before.”

“And I’m going to go right on telling you, as many times as you need or want to hear it.” She smiled, then pressed a kiss softly to my cheek. “Because it wasn’t your fault; it was all on Moloch. _All_ of it. And we won.” Her fingertips petted my beard. “Remember that because it's the most important part."

“I shall try.” I was well aware her opinion of my culpability was far more generous than I deserved. _But if you choose to overlook the great many stupid things I have done, who am I to protest?_

Her lips pressed together as she suppressed a yawn. “Sorry. That one got away from me.”

“You should sleep. I have kept you up far too late already.”

She shook her head. “I don’t mind. It helps you get better, if you talk about it.”

“Perhaps we can discuss it on the morrow? You need your rest for - what are they called - Excel spreadsheets?”

“Once I get away from that desk, I’m never looking at another of those things.” She made a face and pretended to shudder. “You’re sure you’re OK til then?”

I nodded and smiled slightly. She peered at me closely for a moment, as though she attempted to discern whether my expression masked a darker reality. Finally, she sighed and settled beside me. I reached to extinguish the bedside lantern as she nestled her head against my shoulder.

I held the lieutenant close, stroking her hair as I heard her breathing slow. “I love you, Abbie,” I whispered.

“I love you too,” she yawned, “Ichabod.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jenny's crossbow is the one from season 2 episode 1. :)


	27. Chapter 27

***Abbie pov - several months later***

“The Babycenter internet states that high contrast patterns are stimulating to an infant’s development.”

“Hmm… really?” I lifted Jenny into her highchair. “Can you see if there’s any more strained carrots? There might be some on the top shelf, but I can’t reach them.” _If I give you something to do, will you give me a break from Crane’s Encyclopedia of Baby Stuff_?

Jenny patted the tray with her little hands and squealed. “How can anybody get as excited about carrots as you do?” I smiled at her, receiving a gummy grin in return. As I fastened her bib, I heard things rattling around in the pantry.

Crane handed me a little jar (which he’d already opened for me.) “Hence, we should paint the nursery in a black and white checkerboard pattern. On all four walls.”

_Give me strength._ “That might be a little _too_ stimulating, considering how little she sleeps already.” Jenny grinned at me again, oozing strained carrots. “Plus, she’s not going to be a baby forever. Look how much she’s already grown.” I nodded at Jenny. “Haven’t you?”

Jenny nodded, copying me, as she looked up at Crane.

“Hmm… perhaps.” Crane frowned.

Jenny opened her mouth for another scoop of strained carrots. ( _She looks just like a baby bird when she does that - so adorable!_ )

“The same internet also provides several receipts for making one’s own baby food, which is purported to be most wholesome.”

“The A&P provides baby food that’s already made in these cute little jars.” I held the jar up as I gave Crane a look. “Unless you’re volunteering to smoosh carrots in your spare time.”

Crane held up one finger, like he does when he’s about to make a point, then frowned as he slowly lowered his arm. _Yeah, that’s what I thought_.

Truth be told, I created this monster.

When Jenny was about a week old, she had the hiccups. Like a jackass, I asked Crane to go check one of the baby websites, to make sure it wasn’t anything to worry about.

“There are internet resources for the care of babies?” His eyebrows went up and you could practically see a light bulb hovering in mid-air over his head.

“Oh yeah, a whole bunch.” I started to list a few I was familiar with, from when I was pregnant, but he was already running to get my laptop.

Since then I think he’s read every webpage about taking care of babies. And, naturally, he can quote them all. Verbatim. While following me around the house.

“If a black and white checkerboard pattern might prove too stimulating, perhaps stripes?”

“Know what would be really stimulating?” I mopped the last of the strained carrots off Jenny’s sweet face with her bib. “If you took her outside for a little while, maybe walked up and down the driveway or around the lake. You know how much she likes that.”

Crane gasped, an actual, audible gasp, clutching his hand over his heart like the shock of what I said was about to kill him. “But there are drafts… and the damp,” he sputtered. “It is nearly autumn.”

“That’s why she’ll have her little jacket and hat on, won’t she?” Jenny giggled as I tickled her under her chin. “We can’t keep her inside all winter.”

“Logically, I realize the truth of your statements,” he sighed. “But it was much different in my time. So many little ones then… did not thrive.” He swallowed. “It was thought the best that could be done was to keep them indoors, near the hearth, as much as was feasible.”

“I get that you worry. And I can understand.” I lifted Jenny out of the highchair. “But we know, now, that it’s healthy for kids to get outside. If they catch a cold or anything...” I lost my train of thought as a yawn sneaked up on me, coming on fast. “Sorry. I was saying that if kids get sick now, we have medicine to make them better."

Crane touched my shoulder gently. “You were up much last night, were you not?”

I had to stop and think about it because it was kind of a blur. “We watched an _Ancient Aliens_ rerun, so it must have been about 2. Then Jenny dozed off for a while. Then I think she got up again. Or maybe that was yesterday? I’m not even sure anymore.” I laughed, shaking my head.

“If I promenade Jenny, will you attempt sleep?”

“A nap sounds like heaven, right about now.” I said. “I promise I’ll be out before my head hits the pillow.”

***Crane pov***

Jenny's small hands worried the top button of my coat as we walked slowly along the path, toward the lake.

"That is a button. _Voilà un bouton_." My daughter watched my lips closely as I spoke, her expression looking precisely like the lieutenant's when she attempted to work out a particularly thorny investigative quandary.

" _C'est un chapeau_. A hat." I straightened her pink cap. "The internet of Parentsplace advises that speaking another language can also encourage your brain's development. Or perhaps, as the lieutenant suggests, it is too stimulating and that is the reason you do not slumber."

Jenny’s jaw worked silently for a moment as she waved one plump arm (in a dramatic oratorical gesture) followed by a torrent of magnificent pear-shaped sounds, some of which did sound a bit like French.

"Well said." I nodded.

Jenny copied my nod, jabbering with enthusiasm, as though to emphasize her point. Then, lightning fast, her arm darted out to grab a lock of my hair and pull at it. Hard. (Like the lieutenant, her strength belied her diminutive size.)

"Ah! Ah! That is hair. _Cheveux_." Hearing the alarmed tone in my voice, Jenny's wispy eyebrows knit together and she attempted to draw her hand away, resulting in another sharp tug, as her fingers had become entangled.

" _Merde_!" I winced as the expletive slipped out. "Pray do not learn that particular word nor tell your mother I said it." After hoisting Jenny a bit higher on my hip, my free hand worked to extricate her tiny fingers. "You have made quick work of this tangle, have you not?" She frowned, her bottom lip trembling.

"But do not give it a thought." I offered a reassuring smile, which she hesitantly returned. I finally disentangled her fingers, tucking my hair securely behind my ear. "You were merely being an infant. It is I who am remiss for not dressing my hair in a more appropriate coiffure this morning ... and for not keeping track of your mittens. I see you have removed one again."

I turned in a circle, looking about me. Finally, I saw something small and pink lying several yards away, whence we had come. "And there I was congratulating myself that you had kept your hat on to this point. Clearly, you have bested me again."

I strode back toward the errant glove. As I knelt carefully to retrieve it, balancing Jenny on my hip, I heard a sound like a combined purr and cluck some yards away, followed by the rustle of thrashing through the underbrush, growing softer as it moved away.

"Do you recognize that noise? That was a turkey. He had best be on his guard, as Thanksgiving approaches.” I brushed the leaves from Jenny’s glove, then slipped it over her hand. “Would you care to hear his call again?”

Jenny watched as I wrapped my forefinger over my thumb, then pressed the resulting aperture against my lips, blowing in the manner our gamekeeper had shewn me centuries before. At the whirring sound, Jenny’s wispy eyebrows went up and her lips formed a small “o”. _Success!_ I repeated my effort a few times.

“It is an oft-repeated legend that Ben Franklin desired that the turkey should replace the bald eagle as our nation’s symbol. In fact, he was only joking, when he wrote this… in one of his usual feeble efforts at humor. There was another occasion, actually, when we were in Boston-”

Jenny’s wail cut me off. “Ah, that is right. I recall, now, that you loathe my interminable anecdotes.” Lifting my daughter against my shoulder, I walked toward a cleared area beside the path. “Perhaps a dance?” I hummed a song I remembered from the ballroom as I began an allemande (in which Jenny led, appropriately). As I recalled the steps, I smiled at the soft cooing sound Jenny made against my shoulder as we continued to turn.

“I need to teach you the Carlton dance. She likes that one, too.” The lieutenant stepped into the clearing. "Want me to take over?”

“Apologies.” At her mother’s voice, Jenny squealed and held out her arms. “Did we awaken you? I had endeavored to be quiet.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Abbie stretched then took Jenny carefully from my hands. “The entire time I was laying there, I felt like my brain was going a mile a minute, thinking about all the stuff I need to do… laundry, reports for work… and Baby Jen is going to be in law school by the time I finish writing thank you notes for her shower gifts… aren’t you, Sweetie?” My wife and daughter exchanged a smile that took my breath away. Together, they were easily the two most beautiful creatures I had ever beheld.

“I confess I am in the same state, much of the time,” I sighed. “The stacks of papers to grade and moldy tomes to translate are e’er growing in my cabinet. But I repeat my offer to shoulder additional duties… laundering, perhaps?”

“Thanks, but I’m good with the division of labor we have.” The lieutenant held up her hand. “I can deal with washing if you keep doing the ironing, especially your gigantic shirts. But you’re sweet to offer.” She moved toward me, resting her free hand on my shoulder as she inclined her face toward mine. I wrapped my arms around them, bending to place a quick peck atop Jenny’s cap before pressing my lips to my wife’s (chastely, as little eyes observed).

“Group hug!” Abbie laughed as she cuddled Jenny to her bosom while cozying against me. I rubbed my hands in circles on my wife’s back as I breathed in the fragrance of her hair, Jenny’s sweet infant smell. It was such a simple moment, yet I could feel tears spring to my eyes as my heart seemed to swell against my ribs. _I have everything I have ever desired in life here in my arms_.

Abbie sighed as she nestled her head against my shoulder. I kissed her hair as I wondered if she felt the tenderness of the moment, like I did. _Do you realize how precious you both are to me?_

Just then, I heard the throaty rumble of a motorcycle engine.

Jenny babbled and waved her arms. “You know that sound heralds the arrival of your favorite aunt, do you not?”

We started back up the path, entering the yard just as Ms. Jenny rolled into view. The silvered metal of the motorcycle gleamed as she piloted it past us, coming to a stop in front of the cabin. (I had learned, from Mr. Ash, that the motorcycle she rode was referred to as a “chopper”... which was also a nickname for a helicopter aircraft. _Perhaps because they produce a similar sound? I must research this_.

The engine gave another rumble, then stilled. We approached as Ms. Jenny removed her helm, then dismounted.

“Baby Sis.” Abbie smiled as she and her sister embraced, holding Ms. Jenny’s namesake between them. “When did you get back in town?”

“Just came from the airstrip. May I?” She held out her hands toward Jenny (who extended her arms, in kind, toward her aunt.)

“Definitely.” Abbie said, as she helped Ms. Jenny nestle our daughter against her hip. “Baby Jen is always so excited to see you.”

“It’s mutual.” Ms. Jenny smiled.

“Is that Ash’s new bike you were telling me about?” The lieutenant gestured toward the gleaming vehicle.

“Mmm hmm. Think maybe your parents will let you ride it… in a few years?”  Ms. Jenny asked our daughter.

“More like a few decades. Minimum.” Abbie put her head to one side, in a saucy look. “Someone must really like you, if he lets you borrow his baby.”

“Hard to say.” Ms. Jenny shrugged. She seemed to studiously avoid meeting her sister’s gaze. “It’s a sweet ride, though.”

“I’ll just bet it is.” The sisters exchanged a look, then both laughed.

“He acts all tough and mean on the outside, but underneath he’s really sweet.” Ms. Jenny said with a small, slightly embarrassed-looking smile.

“Sounds like someone else I know.” Abbie poked her sister’s arm playfully, with one forefinger.

“I have no idea who you’re talking about, obviously.” Jenny shook her head, smiling. “I hope I’m not interrupting? I know I should call before I come over, but I couldn’t wait to see this little cutie.” Jenny laughed as her aunt tickled her belly.

“Definitely not interrupting,” Abbie said. “You just caught us playing hooky from all the stuff we should be doing.”  She yawned again, pressing her fingers over her lips as she turned toward me. “Sorry. Um, playing hooky means avoiding something you’re supposed to be doing.”

“Ah. Doubtless from the Dutch _hoekje_ , for hide and seek.”

Jenny watched as her aunt rummaged in her pocket. "Do I have something for you in here? What do you think." Jenny squealed as her aunt's hand emerged, holding a brightly-colored toy, which Jenny promptly grabbed for. “Sounds to me like you guys have your priorities straight. The other stuff will wait, but Baby Jen won’t be a baby forever. I think she’s grown some more in just the two weeks I’ve been away.”

“She probably has. Her pediatrician says she’s going to be bigger than me, soon.” The lieutenant’s eyes shone as she looked our daughter.

“Want me to take her for a walk, give you guys a catch up on stuff?” Ms. Jenny shook the toy, which emitted a rattling sound, then handed it to her namesake (who immediately attempted to consume it.)

“That would be _so_ great,” Abbie said. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Don’t mind a bit. It will give me and my partner in crime a chance to catch up. Won’t it?” Jenny copied her aunt’s nod. “See? She agrees with me.”

“Shall I accompany you?” The words leapt out before I considered them.

“We’ll be fine.” Jenny waved her hand. “If she has a blowout, it’s a short walk back to the house… where you guys get to deal with it.”

I felt something twist in my stomach as Ms. Jenny and our daughter proceeded down the path, moving away from us. “Is our daughter’s mantle warm enough? Perhaps she requires a change of clothing?”

“She’s toasty warm.” Abbie slipped her hand into mine, tugging gently. “Come on. I don’t know about you, but I have a million and one things to do.”

As we proceeded toward the house, I lagged behind to look over my shoulder, watching as the two Jennys receded from view.

“Perhaps I should attend Ms. Jenny after all? Just in case I am needed.” I stopped, released my wife’s hand.

Abbie turned slowly to face me. “Crane…” A small crease appeared between her brows. “We both know Jenny’s great with her. What are you worried about… really?”

My worry lessened as I felt the truth of her words. “Must you be so perceptive? It is most unnerving.”

“Thanks but, I’m not all that perceptive on this one. It’s kind of obvious because I know you trust Jenny like I do.” Her mouth quirked. “So what’s going on?”

“I love you both so much. With all my heart.” I sighed. “I feel as if I am the most fortunate man alive, to have you in my life."

“Aw… you get a hug for that.”

My shoulders curved forward, wrapping myself around the lieutenant, as we embraced and I lay my cheek against her hair. “But luck is tenuous. Fickle. It changes in the blink of an eye.”

“With you so far.” Her hands rubbed my back. “We’ve both seen the truth of that.”

“I feel as if I must be constantly on watch lest misfortune befall you or Jenny." I moved back a bit so I could see her reaction. "I must admit, it sounds a bit silly, now that I hear myself say it.”

“Not silly. At all.” My wife's head tipped back as she looked up at me. “But you’re forgetting something.”

“Oh. Pray tell.”

“We’re a team, Crane.” Her hand felt warm as she lay it against my cheek. “You’re not alone in this because I’ve got your back. And besides...” She smiled and her eyes had the warm look that kindled something inside me. “...we beat the apocalypse. Surely we can figure out how to raise a kid.”

“Hmm. A valid point. But I think I slept more during the apocalypse.” I rubbed my chin. “I have explained to our daughter, on numerous occasions, that the internets concur she should sleep 12 to 13 hours each day. But she will have none of it.”

“Kid’s got a mind of her own. No question. But speaking of sleep…” Abbie slipped her hands inside my coat. “We're both awake now. And we have a babysitter…” I shivered as her fingertips traced up my spine.

“Another excellent point. And well said.” I bent toward her.

“Ew! Get a room you guys.” We broke apart as Ms. Jenny approached. “Sorry to interrupt but I think someone has a gift for you.” She nodded toward our daughter.

“I shall do the honors.” I scooped up Jenny, then quick-marched toward the cabin.

As I took care of the matter, I could hear Ms. Jenny and my wife enter the front door, then their voices.

“...from South America. But it’s a dialect I don’t recognize, and maybe encrypted.”

I felt a flutter of excitement. “Did she say encrypted?” Jenny’s jaw worked, as though she attempted to reply.

“You will join our conversations soon, will you not? I confess I am wild with excitement to hear what you have to say.” I picked her up, then turned to leave the nursery. “I should particularly like to know why you have such distaste for slumber.”

Jenny gave me a particularly winning smile and cooed, " _Merde_."

I froze, clapping my free hand over my mouth as the horror of what I’d done -- or said -- washed over me. _Dear Lord, no… that cannot be your first word_. Jenny’s eyebrows drew together as she observed my expression. _In addition to its inappropriateness, there will be no doubt where you learned it_. "Will you not say 'mummy' or perhaps 'mama'?"

" _Merrrrde_ ," Jenny growled the guttural “r”.

"She'll talk when she's ready," Abbie said. "Come hear about this cool mission Jenny's working on."

I put my finger over my lips. “Please,” I whispered. Jenny met my eyes for a moment, then her gaze returned to the toy she still clasped. She waved it energetically, emitting a rattling sound, then (even better) began to gnaw on it. As her attentions seemed to have turned from French profanity, I judged it was safe to rejoin the sisters in the other room.

“Forgive me for eavesdropping but did I hear you mention a cypher?” I handed Jenny into her aunt's waiting arms, as she reached upward from her place on the settee.

“Yeah, it's a Kaqchikel dialect, but I think it's encoded somehow. If you'll get my phone out of my jacket, there’s some photos of the glyphs.

The lieutenant’s scrolled through the photographs as I leaned over her shoulder. "Is this you and Ash at Bike Week?"

"Yeah. Selfie." Ms. Jenny grinned.

"You guys look cute together. Happy."

“Happy!” Ms. Jenny’s jaw dropped and she gave a breathy laugh. “That word… it actually fits, doesn’t it?”

“It crept up on me, too.” The lieutenant smiled. “To be honest, I never thought it would apply to us. Did you?”

"Never. Ever. Oh, I mean, I hoped, but it was like you hope you’ll win the lottery: fun to think about, but you know it’s never going to happen." Ms. Jenny returned the lieutenant’s smile, then pressed her lips against her namesake's cheek, blowing a loud raspberry sound, which was succeeded by Jenny’s giggles.  “Did you find the pictures of the petroglyphs yet?”

The lieutenant’s thumb flicked across the small screen a few more times, passing photos of Ms. Jenny and Mr. Ash clasping hands on a beach, a heart drawn in the sand, finally stopping at a stone carving. I leaned in for a closer look at the weathered hieroglyphics.

“Do you recognize any of it?” Ms. Jenny turned toward me.

“Some… perhaps. May I?” The lieutenant lay the phone in my outstretched palm. On first glance it appeared similar to Maya script, in its use of logograms, but a closer look revealed the syllabic glyphs to be a bit more complicated. I moved my fingertips apart on the small screen to enlarge the photographs as I flicked back and forth between them.

_Q'uq'umatz, creator… assumed human form… illegible… the forest by the waterfall… cursed?_ I enlarged the image again, squinted at the weathered stone as I turned the phone sideways. _Or blessed?_

“Sorry. I know it’s kind of hard to read.”

“The erosion of the stone and overgrowth of moss complicate matters, particularly with regard to the last glyph.”

“Unfortunately, that’s the most important one.” Ms. Jenny nodded. “Did he bless or curse them? The tribe thinks the land is cursed, because of all the bad luck they’ve had lately. Some of them want to sell it -- 10,000 acres of virgin rainforest -- to developers because they think it’s going to lift the curse and solve all their problems.”

“Some of them.” the lieutenant frowned.

“Exactly. But it’s the ‘some’ who are in charge.” My daughter’s eyes followed Ms. Jenny’s hand as she made swooping motions with the toy. “The others are more cautious. So they got me involved.”

“Certainly, they should not sell until the meaning of these glyphs can be determined,” I said.

“That’s my thinking, too,” Ms. Jenny said. “Unfortunately, the encryption has Gunther and me stumped… and it’s bugging the hell out of me.”

“Perhaps if I could see the glyphs in person,” my fingertips stroked my beard as I thought. “Without the shadows in the photos.”

“Be a nice break from the cold weather, too,” the lieutenant said.

“That would be fantastic!” Ms. Jenny grinned. “With all the magic doodads I’ve found lately, I can even send you guys there business class. Baby Jen, too. Oh, but…sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” Her face fell. “You already told me you’re too busy with other stuff.”

“ _Merde_.” Jenny said softly, then yawned.

I heard my wife’s gasp as two sets of dark eyes turned toward me and. “Crane! Did you teach her that? That’s not funny.”

“It slipped out. Once. I swear it.” I held up my hands.

I could feel the tension between us for a moment, then my wife’s shoulders relaxed. “It’s OK,” Abbie sighed as she shook her head. “I’ve probably let some stuff slip around her, too. It’s just the luck of the draw that she remembered yours.”

“And you’ll have a story to tell if she ever asks what her first word was.” Ms. Jenny patted our daughter’s back as she rested her small head on her aunt’s shoulder.

“But… is she wrong?” A furrow appeared between my wife’s brows.

“I… do not follow.”

“I mean, we’re not too busy… OK, yeah, we are but… don’t you miss it?”

“Miss what, precisely?”

“The excitement, solving mysteries, all that scooby gang stuff?” Abbie leaned forward on the settee as she gestured animatedly. “The most interesting case I have now is a missing poodle.”

_Scooby gang?_ “Perhaps...” I tried to hide my excitement. (I did love a good cypher.)

“And the tribe needs our help. That’s it.” She snapped her fingers. “We have to do it.”

As our gazes met, I could see my eagerness mirrored in my wife’s dark eyes. “You are certain?” I raised my eyebrow as I pictured the stacks of papers on my desk… which would only continue to grow, in my absence. _But they have waited centuries for translation… they can delay a bit longer_.

“Positive.” My wife nodded, turned toward Ms. Jenny. “We’re in.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, kudos, and especially comments (positive as well as not-so-positive). I am trying to improve at this and your insight and fresh perspective help me greatly.

**Author's Note:**

> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine. Thank you so much for your time and interest in reading. :)


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